Radio Silent
by hecklesyeah
Summary: He takes a detour; whether it's the best or the worst kind is uncertain. [All the Avengers make an appearance despite the limit this site puts on the number of characters.]
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: This was completely random. And I'm still kinda struggling with it so be patient with me._ _I don't have this completely outlined just yet so I'm a bit open to suggestions on this one; I can't guarantee anything tho. And as usual, this is for all you Captain Hill shippers out there._

* * *

When Captain America was unearthed and thawed 70 years after he went into the ice, the select few at SHIELD who had a high-enough clearance to be trusted with the knowledge believed it was a blessing — a sign that the world would prosper, that peace would prevail.

Steve Rogers thought otherwise. It wasn't so much as losing faith in himself and in what the shield stood for as it was being so incredibly overwhelmed that grief, sorrow, and anger have cast a shadow over everything else.

He couldn't inspire hope in others if he couldn't find any in himself.

So after a series of tests that cleared him for civilian life, he requested time. His request was initially denied by Director Fury in lieu of a counter-request — a bargain of sorts that he be subjected to at least a month of intensive training inclusive of a crash-course in history, current events and customs, and basic technology to survive as well as a brief introduction to modern weaponry and warfare.

Around two months later, Steve found the SHIELD-issued Harley softail custom-engineered for Captain America himself waiting for him in the parking lot as a physical manifestation of his request finally being granted. With it, he set out to travel in, across, and around the country — wherever the wind took him, if he was being poetic.

During one of his relaxing bike rides around the country, he finds himself in Wheaton, New Jersey, not too far from what used to be Camp Lehigh where he got his military training pre-serum. He considers visiting what's left the old place. On his way there, however, he takes a detour to compose himself in light of the memories that the camp would surely bring back.

When dusk comes, he spots the broken neon sign "Cro o ds" for a diner near a fork in the road. He suspects that, given the location, it must have spelled out "Crossroads" once upon a time. He parks his bike and enters, sweeping his gaze around the place. It's not pristine but it's not too shabby either. When the bell on the door chimes again upon closing, an old woman comes out of the door behind the counter.

"Evenin', dearie," she greets him, her accent dripping with every word. "What can I get ya?"

"Good evening, Ma'am. Umm…" He glances at her name plate. "Janet." He chooses the seat on one end of the bar and asks, "What do you have?" He listens as she, instead of giving him a menu, dictates a list of food that seem to get greasier as she goes on. "I will have a cheeseburger and some fries, thank you. A cup of coffee would be great if you could spare some."

She looks at him funny before she grins. "Ya new 'round 'ere?"

He smiles politely and nods. "Just passing through."

"Alrighty, suga'. Would ya like some pie with that? We've got apple, blueberry, chocolate pecan, and peach—" She cuts herself off and leans back a little to see their display.

He follows her gaze but his stop instead on a lone woman seated at the other end of the bar, nursing what looks like a milkshake and absent-mindedly twirling her straw. He forces himself to look back at Janet when he realizes she's saying something. "My apologies, Ma'am, could you repeat that, please?"

She gives him another funny look before she says, "We're all outta peach, son. Just apple, blueberry, and chocolate pecan."

"I think I will go with chocolate pecan, thank you. Is it any good or are the fruit pies better?" He charms the waitress.

Janet points at the display with her thumb. "We've a lot o' those and apple pie for a reason, suga'. The best 'round 'ere." She squints at him, as if contemplating something. "Tell ya what, I'll give ya a slice each, on the house if ya can finish 'em after your burger 'n fries."

"Oh, no, I can't possibly—"

"Humor an ol' woman, will ya?"

"You are not old." He is pleased when he gets a smile out of Janet even as she raises an eyebrow to insist on her offer. His shoulders sag a little before he grins, "Deal."

For a second, his smile drops as he thinks of how the poor woman is going to lose a bet as well as some money for her kindness before he decides he'll just leave a sizable tip to cover both pies and more. The account SHIELD has provided for his integration into society is more than enough; plus, Fury said that when he's ready to be Steve Rogers, Captain America — be alive again and known in the modern world — he'll get his pension for services rendered, the one that has accumulated since the war.

When his order comes, he digs in and only then just realizes how hungry he was. The burger was a little too greasy but delicious. Jones always did say more grease meant a better burger. Halfway through inhaling his burger, he suddenly stops and stares at it, remembering the last time he ate a burger. It was with Jones and the rest of the Howling Commandos that night before Bucky — _God, Bucky_ — fell to his death.

He remembers it like it was yesterday; he remembers _everything_ like it was yesterday. Because it _was_. Everything he knew was gone. _Everyone_ he knew was gone. Except Peggy, who is losing her memories while he wallows in his.

He's been free for all of nine days now and yet he has no idea where he wants to go or what he wants to do. There are so many new things he wants and probably needs to try but no one to discover the world with like he wanted to with Peggy and no one to hold his hand every step of the way like he always had with Bucky. He doesn't even have a purpose for being in this world anymore that he questions the twist of fate that led to the discovery of his frozen yet alive self. They should've left well enough alo—

The rather loud click and tap on the counter breaks him out of his reverie. A tall mug similar to the one he saw from the woman on the other end of the bar greets him when he looks up from staring blankly at his half-eaten burger.

"Someone thought you might need this," Janet answers his unasked question with a sly expression. It makes him turn his head once more to look at the woman he saw nursing the same drink but finds her drained glass on the countertop as the only proof she was ever there. "Mhmm. It hasn't been five minutes since she left." She punctuates her statement with a pointed look. He only blinks in response and it has her tilting her head in the direction of the door and gesturing towards it. He just looks at the door and then back at her with a slightly confused expression. "O' hell. Follow her out, thank her or see if she's interested, whatever. Go!"

He finally gets a move on but by the time he's out the door, he only gets to see the taillights of a vehicle driving away in the night. His shoulders feel heavy as he makes his way back into the diner and he isn't sure why, especially when he wasn't even sure what he was about to do. He shakes his head as he sits and asks Janet if the woman is a regular.

"Been here a few times this past month, maybe two. But no, not really." He notices the teasing look she gives him before she asks, "Ain't she pretty?"

He ducks his head but it's not enough to hide the flush of his cheeks. Because she is. He only caught her profile but somehow, he's sure.

Alone in the Bed and Breakfast, he tears a piece of paper from the pad on the nightstand and with the pen, starts sketching lines and curves he hasn't dabbled in since the war. He's a little rusty, so to speak, but when he leans back and adds a few finishing touches, he's convinced he's at least been able to capture the woman's profile rather accurately. Despite the surprise at absently having sketched the woman, he finds himself wanting to change her expression, wanting to make her smile to lift the somber look she has. But he'd used ink. Maybe next time.

It's about a week later when he sees her again. He's sitting at an outdoor cafe when he hears a faint honk. He looks up and there she is, riding a bike through town with fresh produce piled in the front basket. It may have been dark that night but he can't mistake that face, that profile as she passes by. She's in a white sleeveless sundress with blue accents that he imagines brings out her eyes, if they were blue. Her dark hair is up in a messy ponytail, the shorter strands escaping the hold and whipping in the wind, behind her and around her neck and shoulders. He's too much in awe of her that by the time he's coherent enough to call out to her she's long gone. When he looks down, he finds himself clutching the teaspoon he was just using to stir sugar into his coffee. He pats the breast pocket on his leather jacket to check that the cardholder is still there — the one he purchased for the sole purpose of securing the folded piece of drawing he finished that night last week.

Not long after, he asks the waitress about the nearest art supplies store and purchases a sketchpad along with a few pencils. It doesn't take long for him to require new ones. Because he's missed recreating memories and sceneries from his mind's eye. But more importantly, because every time he starts to wish they never found and thawed him out, he sketches _her_. Imagined scenarios where she's smiling openly; other times he imagines actually seeing her face — bare of make-up, much like he's seen her that day as she rode past him.

Today, he draws her again but she's more relaxed, flat on her stomach, smiling at him with sleepy eyes and her mussed hair falling down her bare back down to clean, white sheets, stopping on her hips just below the dimples on her lower back.

After he gets out of his trance and sees the finished product, his eyes widen and he drops the pencil before he bolts from his bed, grabs his jacket, and takes his bike out for a ride, destination unknown. He's blinking back tears when he catches sight of dim neon lights nearby and parks. He stays on his bike, staring off into the darkness.

He feels guilty whenever his mind wanders off to places with the woman, places where everything should be perfect except he feels like he's somehow defiling what's left of his memory of his apparently distant past.

He wasn't supposed to be drawing imagined scenarios with a stranger; he should have lived through them. With Peggy.

But the universe is full of surprises.

* * *

 _A/N:_ _It's been a bit of a shitstorm lately_ — _not bad, just a lot_ — _so u_ _pdates may not come as frequently as they did in IWTL. But I hope it's enough to hold your interests. Thank you for reading._


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes: I'm pretty sure you guys have already figured out the main premise of this story. If you haven't, this chapter might help. I only hope my idea comes across the way I planned, especially with the coming chapters._

* * *

Yes, the universe is full of surprises.

He's startled back to reality by the headlights of a charcoal 2011 Jeep Wrangler Sport now parked two slots away. When the engine dies, he turns to see the driver coming out of it. He freezes.

He's aware that he's being rude by staring but he can't help it. She has her back turned to him now as she tries to reach for what looks like a jacket draped over the back of the passenger seat. She still hasn't turned but he notices the moment she realizes she's being watched — she pauses momentarily and stands up straighter even as she turns slowly to him.

"It's you."

He watches her eyes narrow and her brows furrow slightly as she carefully looks around and behind her while keeping him in her peripheral vision. When she sees no one there, she asks, "Me?"

He rises from his bike and strides closer to where she is. Her instincts tell her to stand her ground, meet him head on, and take him down if necessary — after all, there is that knife she keeps in her left boot if he proves to be a capable fighter. But for the sake of pretense, she forces herself to take a step back and then another. She tenses when she sees him reach into his jacket. She reaches beside her, where the open door shields her hand from his view as it slides into the side compartment. She pauses and waits, her hand ghosting over the cool barrel to the grip.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He raises his other hand in a placating gesture when he steps into the dim light.

 _You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?_

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry." Yet somehow, in the dim lighting, her sharp features seem more dangerous even as she's retreating from him until her back meets the side of her vehicle. "I just—" He slowly pulls his hand out from inside his jacket and extends it to her. "I wanted to give you something."

"What is it?" Once he's opened the folded piece of paper, he gestures for her to see for herself. "It's beautiful." She almost smiles before, "Why are you giving me this?"

"I wanted to thank you but you were gone so quickly."

"Wait, is this…" She relaxes her hold on the gun as she reaches for the drawing with her free hand. "Is this me?" He nods his assent. "Look, I don't know who you are but if you're some kind of stalker—"

"No!" His answer comes quickly. "No, I'm not. Although, I, uh…" He gestures around them. "I understand why you would think that." He scratches at his nape when he sees her glance down at the sketch. "I know, it's not perfect. I'm a bit rusty and it was dark that night."

She narrows her eyes at him before they widen in recognition. "Milkshake."

He smiles when he sees her visibly relax, "You remember."

She shrugs, only then does she let go of her grip as she moves to close the door. "So what are you doing here? Or is this the part where you tell me you've been waiting for me all those weeks in between then and now?"

"If I say yes, would you call the police?"

"Already did," she deadpans and watches his expression turn into shock. From less than two feet away, she squints at him then gives him a smirk which he returns when he realizes she's bluffing. "Lose the flannel and I'll call them off."

He blanches. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Milkshake." He's grateful for the darkness that hides what he's sure is a blush. "I can see the tops of a black shirt; you'll be fine with just that and the jacket."

He does what she asks, first stripping himself of the brown leather jacket and flinging it onto the seat of his bike then unbuttoning the flannel. Once he's taken that off, he fetches his jacket, missing how she openly admires what the loose flannel was keeping out of sight. "What do I do with the shirt?"

"Give it to me." She puts it on over her white tank top, the warmth from his body heat enough to ward off the autumn chill. He's oddly pleased by how his shirt seems to swallow her whole so he just watches as she rolls up the sleeves and ties the loose, open ends into a knot by her stomach. "There."

"Wait," he says as he approaches her then, "May I?" He asks as he lifts both hands on either side of her shoulders. When she nods, he steps towards her and gently leans forward into her space, brushing his hands across her neck to free her long, dark tresses from the confines of the flannel shirt. He even goes as far as running his fingers through her hair before finally tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He leans back a bit but doesn't step back as he openly admires her the way she did with him earlier. "Perfect."

She forces herself to keep her breathing under control, which she finds incredibly difficult when her line of sight falls conveniently on his lips, when she can feel his breath on her forehead. She swallows audibly — at least to him — before she looks up and meets his eyes.

They both have the same thought running through their heads when he insists on buying her a milkshake and when she follows him into the diner: _This is a bad idea_.

She leads the way to her favorite end of the bar, where both the front and the back doors are accessible. He would've noticed her strategic choice if he hadn't been trying not to blush at the waitress' — Janet, he remembers — knowing look as he ordered two milkshakes.

"How's your appetite?"

"Starved," he supplies. "I'm always hungry."

She simply raises an eyebrow then orders cheeseburgers, fries, omelettes, and pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream — two of each. She sighs, "I shouldn't be doing this."

"What, stuff yourself with breakfast food for dinner?"

She scoffs and waves a hand like it's nothing, "I haven't even decided which pie to have for dessert. No, this," she says and gestures between them. "I shouldn't be doing this. And yet here I am."

"Why _are_ you doing this? Why did you agree to this?" He asks, watching as she twirls her straw much like she did that first night. "I'm not complaining, obviously, just curious."

"What if I said it was for the same reason you offered to buy me a milkshake?"

"You've been stalking me too so you could meet me?" There's laughter in his voice as he looks her over. "Doubtful."

"Maybe I'm a skilled professional who knows how to hide her tracks."

"What, like a spy?" A smirk slowly forms on her features. He does a double-take on her and asks, "Are you?" The smirk spreads out into a grin and when she raises one shoulder in a half-shrug, he finds he wants nothing more than to kiss her.

When they finish their food, all that remains are their milkshakes. Naturally, he asks, "Why the milkshake?"

"You looked like you needed it." He simply tilts his head, waiting for her to elaborate. "You were drinking coffee, which must've gotten cold by the way. You were eating and then suddenly you weren't. You looked so far away, figured you needed something stronger."

"I guess I just thought most people would have gone for something with a kick."

"I'm not most people."

"No," he smiles, "You're not."

She feels her eye twitch but ignores the flutter she feels over the compliment. "Besides, milkshakes have a 'kick', thank you very much." She mocks offense and obnoxiously sips hers until it's gone. "And you came to a diner, not a dive bar. What if you were an alcoholic trying to quit or if you've been sober for quite some time and I handed you the very thing you've been ridding yourself of? It would've been bad form. Milkshakes are better for sour moods than any alcohol."

"Alright then," he chuckles. "So, of all the flavors available in their menu, why vanilla?"

"I like a lot of flavors but vanilla will always be my favorite. And I'm sure even the weirdest, most interesting people probably appreciate vanilla." She shrugs. "It's a safe choice."

"I don't know about 'weird' but I'm not a very interesting person." She turns her head and studies him for a short while.

"You seem like a nice guy. Very nice to look at too." Her eyebrow rises when she catches a hint of pink on his cheeks. "Something tells me you're hardly vanilla."

He hums in question. "Why do you say so?"

"Because…" She slowly stands, sliding into the space between his legs in the process. "Neither am I." She says, her voice a little lower, her eyes a little darker. With a final lingering look, she walks away, his entire side feeling her heat as she brushes past him.

He follows her outside but he doesn't even get a word in before she asks, "Where are you staying?"

* * *

 _A/N: This starts out fluffy but since I love pain (I really don't), the angst is yet to come. Probably. No, most likely._


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Notes: Here's where things really begin to develop, I guess? I hope you guys haven't lost interest in it so far._

* * *

Minutes later, they find themselves in his room at the B&B. His jacket on the floor beside the shoes they both toed off, the flannel shirt she took from him hanging from just her right forearm, her hands up inside his shirt, slowly inching it up, leaving goosebumps all over his torso. Their kisses stay hot and fierce and passionate like a raging fire in a dried up forest from the moment his back hit the door when she pushed him, using his weight to shut it.

He pulls away with a hand wrapped delicately around her neck, breathing hard as he tries to keep his head from spinning. "Who are you?" He whispers.

"No names, Milkshake," she smirks before diving in again to make her mark on his already swollen lips.

When they break apart for a bit of air, he turns his head away a little to talk, his breath on her temple, leaving his neck wide open. "Right. But—I've never—" His own moan cuts him off when he feels her teeth dragging across his jugular. "I've never done this before."

He thinks he imagines a giggle coming from her but the smile he can hear in her voice when she nips on his earlobe somehow convinces him otherwise. "Brought home a stranger or gone home with one?"

"No. I mean, yes. To both. But not just that—" He feels her sucking on his pulse point and he finds it more and more difficult to stay coherent. "I—Mmm—I meant—Wait." He finally gets her to pause when he gently pulls her face upward to plant a chaste kiss on her lips. "What I meant was," he pauses, breathless. "I've _never_ done this before." He looks earnestly into her eyes, hoping to convey what he now feels embarrassed to admit.

To say she's surprised would be an understatement. And it shows in her expression. She simply nods then moves away slowly, clearing her throat. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. When she looks back at him, there is no judgment, only disbelief. "You seemed like a natural back at the diner."

He huffs a laugh that sounds a little bitter to her. "I've never done that before either. It just...happened."

"You eagerly accepted it when I invited myself over. I thought—"

"I know." His shoulders sag and he leans more of his weight on the door. "Look, I didn't mean to mislead you. I'm sorry."

"Are you kidding me right now? I feel like I'm cradle-snatching; _I_ should be sorry." She's looking at him with wide eyes as she moves to sit on the foot of the bed, trying to feel around for the twist of the flannel shirt to unravel it and put it back on.

"You are far from cradle-snatching with me." He dismisses her questioning look with a shake of his head then makes his way to her. However, instead of sitting beside her, he sits on the floor beside her feet. "It's not about being...innocent. It's just…"

"There was someone?"

"The first I ever loved," he supplies instantly before he backtracks. "At least I believe it was love. We never got to try and see what we could be."

"Hey, if years or even a decade later you're still pining after this person, it probably is." The nonchalance in her manner of speaking tells him she's either been through a similar experience or is a cynic who's never been in love. But it hasn't even been years or decades; for him, it all seemed like just yesterday. "Do you want to…" She twists in her seat and puts a hand on his shoulder, unsure if she should ask or if she even wants to know.

"Oh, umm..." he turns to face her, flustered as ever.

"Not _that_ ," she says with an eye-roll. "I meant to ask if you wanted to talk about it."

He's torn between relief from the pressure of doing something he's never done before and dread from a talk he doesn't exactly want to have. He shakes his head. "There isn't much to say. When we met, it was an instant attraction, an instant connection — or at least for me it was. But it wasn't…" He trails off, unsure of how to explain his situation with Peggy without sounding insane. "It wasn't the best time to explore anything so we decided to wait. I just didn't realize it would be forever."

"Forever? Come on, you still have time."

His smile is sad when he answers, "She doesn't." She looks at him for elaboration but the almost imperceptible shake of his head clues her in. Moved on and happily married? God forbid, sick and dying? Gone? Whichever it is, it's obviously difficult for him so she drops it.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. She looks away and sees pencils scattered on an open sketch pad. "Is this her?" She asks as she begins to lean towards the middle of the bed but stops when he suddenly grips her wrist.

"No, don't—" The urgency in the tone of his voice startles her, making her look at him enough to notice the flush once again visible on his skin. He sighs before letting her go. "Don't get mad?"

She gives him a confused look before proceeding to lie on her side to view the artwork. She sees the drawing he'd left open earlier before bolting and finding himself at the diner.

"This is…"

"I know, I'm sorry." He stands up and moves to take the sketch pad away from her but she swats his hands away.

"No, this is beautiful. A little creepy, I admit, but…" She turns so she's comfortable on her stomach and admires his work. "You're very talented."

They talk about his art for a while as she leafs through the sketch pad. Their conversation goes from random to serious and back and it all feels so natural that Steve finds himself stretched out on the bed beside her with his back supported by the pillows stacked against the headboard, his reluctance to share a bed with a dame, regardless of context, all but forgotten.

Not long after midnight strikes, they find themselves hungry. Steve apologizes profusely for not having any food in his room and for the B&B not having room service. She brushes him off and orders pizza for the both of them.

She's seated beside him, leaning half on the stacked pillows and half on his shoulder, as she nibbles on her second slice of pizza, him on his fifth. She's just closing the fourth sketchbook when he nudges her shoulder gently. "What made you buy me that milkshake?"

"I told you, I saw something in you that night." When he doesn't respond, she glances at him before explaining, "Your expression, your posture, the tone of your voice when you spoke, almost as if you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders…" She swallows the lump in her throat that has nothing to do with pizza. "I've seen it before." _All the time. In the mirror._

When he sends her a questioning look, she just shrugs. "Was it pity?" He looks down at his hands. "Was that what prompted the milkshake?"

She shakes her head. "Look, if that's what you feel for yourself, then there really isn't much that someone like me could do."

"Someone like you?"

"A stranger."

"You've done more in the past few hours than a lot of others have in the past few months."

The way he speaks exudes resignation; it gives her the idea that he's lost a lot, maybe too much. And he has, everyone he's ever cared about, but she doesn't know that. She finds herself quietly blurting, "I've lost brothers too." _Brothers-in-arms._

His eyes widen at the recognition and settle at the acceptance. "I'm sorry."

For a while, they eat their pizza in silence. Whether it's in memoriam or if he's ruined it somehow, he isn't sure but he thinks it's the latter. He's convinced otherwise because a few moments later, he's pulled out of his own mind when he feels her head on his shoulder. He thinks she simply nodded off after her third slice before she moves to adjust the flannel shirt more securely around her form.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she answers a little too quickly and sharply and that's his first hint otherwise.

"Are you sure?"

"Mhmm." A corner of his mouth twitches as he bites back a smile at her being stubborn. His second clue is the slight shiver he feels on his side from where she's leaning on him. She huffs. "Okay, maybe a little."

He stands and clears the bed, depositing everything on the coffee table a few feet away. He then pulls the duvet from under her and proceeds to tuck her in.

"What are you doing?"

"Tucking you in."

"I can see that." She watches him make his way to the couch. "Why?

"You were cold."

"Then why did you leave?" He frowns, confused. "Your body was like a furnace and now it's even colder." She pats the space he just vacated, wordlessly telling him to go back. He hesitates for just one moment before he does just that. She burrows under the duvet and into his shoulder. He figures if she's fine lying this close to him, she probably won't protest him wrapping his arm around her so that her head is pillowed on his shoulder.

"This probably wasn't what you had in mind when you got here." His hand settles on her back, gently rubbing up and down, soothing her to sleep.

Her voice is muffled by his shoulder when she answers, "No, bu's fine."

When she wakes an hour or two later, it's to gentle fingers alternating between scratching her scalp and running through her hair. Her mouth curves to a small smile, deciding to go back to sleep. However, she begins to panic when she feels his head turn to hers, inhaling before planting to a soft kiss on the top of her head. He must have felt her tense and stiffen because he shifts to look at her despite the darkness.

"Hey." She moves to sit up and refuses to look at him. "Is everything okay?" He asks, his voice a little husky.

"Yeah, I, uh… I just—I need to go." She pushes the duvet off of her and makes a beeline for the coffee table to retrieve her car keys.

"Now?"

"Yeah, this was a mistake."

When she goes to sit on the couch to put her shoes back on, he moves to stand by the door, not quite blocking her path but not quite letting her slip past so easily either. Just a few hours ago, she seemed so comfortable in his presence, playful even. She got him to open up a bit about his past, albeit glossing over the exact details, and he thinks he got her to do the same. What went wrong? Why the sudden change?

"Why?"

"I shouldn't have gone with you in the first place."

"But we didn't do anything." She looks at him pointedly. "Okay, we kissed."

"We made out."

"Okay, but that's it. I thought you wanted more?" He tries to catch her eyes but can't. "If you feel like I overstepped any boundaries, I'm sorry—"

That gives her pause. "God, are you even real?" He blinks. "That's not the issue here."

"Then what is?" He waits a while but she doesn't respond. "You won't even tell me?"

"Fine. You're right, this wasn't what I came here for. I came here for a night of possibly amazing sex. A one night stand. Just sex, get whatever this is out of my system so I can leave and move on with my life because guess what? People do that."

They stare at each other for a while before he breaks the silence. "But I don't want just one night."

"And that's exactly why this is a mistake."

"Why?"

She finishes lacing up her boots and stands. "I figured you weren't that type. I should've left right then and there."

"Why?"

"You ask too many questions."

"And you're being evasive."

She narrows her eyes at him. She knows she doesn't have to explain herself but she does anyway, the words coming out of her mouth before she can stop them. "Because I don't want complicated. I don't want whatever this is." She gestures between them. "I don't want a relationship."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that either but I know I don't want it to end like this."

A part of her is still convinced that bolting is the best decision, convinced that he wouldn't be saying that if he knew who she was. However, her feet stay rooted on the floor. "What do you want?"

"I... I don't know. But you're the first connection I've made in this world." He notices her frown at what he just said so he barrels on, hoping she wouldn't focus on his little slip. "I'd like to see where this could go."

"You've been hung up on someone for a long time and all of a sudden you want to 'see where _this_ could go'?"

He acknowledges her disbelief with a firm nod. "I've learned my lesson. I don't want another 'what if'."

She looks at him intently, trying to figure out his game; he appears to have none. "I can't stay."

"Tonight?"

She shakes her head. "I can't _stay_." She looks him straight in the eyes to emphasize her point. "Not for much longer."

"How long?"

"I don't know. Three, maybe four months tops." She runs her fingers through her hair, not meeting his eyes. "Just until I finish what I came here for in the first place."

"Then I'll take it. That is, if you're willing."

She contemplates the pros and cons of the situation before she looks up at him and says, "This is not a relationship; I'm not yours and you're not mine. And it's definitely not a lifetime commitment."

"Okay."

"No names, no questions, no demands, and nothing public." He nods. "Everything has to be a mutual decision; this wouldn't work otherwise." At another nod, she continues, "Good. Any other conditions?"

"We stop when either of us wants out."

"Of course."

"Nothing illegal." He watches her nod before he adds, "And no partners other than me." He blushes slightly. "Other than each other, I mean."

She folds her arms across her chest. "Don't want to share, huh, Milkshake?" Her lips slide into a smirk, teasing him.

"That too, if you're going to keep calling me that, then I get to call you Flannel."

She laughs. "Why Flannel of all things?"

"The first thing you ever gave me was a milkshake. Flannel works the same way."

"Didn't realize you were sentimental."

"Didn't realize _you_ were."

"Alright. You said you've never done this before." He nods. She moves to stand right in front of him. "Have you ever done any form of it?"

He tilts his head. "I'm not sure I follow." Okay, maybe he downplayed the innocence card earlier. He's heard things from the Commandos, and from Bucky back when he was 90lbs soaking wet. But he'd refused to fool around with anyone who couldn't even look him in the eye, until it simply didn't matter anymore. Until Peggy, until he crashed in the Arctic.

"You did say you didn't want this night to end just like that." She fists his shirt, pulls and twists them both around so he's trapped between her and the couch. She puts her hand on his stomach then slowly moves it up to his chest. "Do you trust me?"

He blinks. "I probably shouldn't but oddly enough, I do."

She tugs on his shirt again, this time to ask permission. When his shirt is off, she pushes him gently down the couch. "Then trust that you'll enjoy this." She gives him an almost feral smile before gracefully dropping to her knees in front of him.

* * *

 _A/N: Thoughts? I'll try to keep the weekly updates but if I can't, please understand. And as usual, thank you for reading x_


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Notes: Hi. So the rating changed. Like I said, this will be mostly fluffy in the beginning, with a bit of skin-on-skin. The fluff wasn't supposed to last long but the characters demanded it and I am weak so here you go._

* * *

It's been two days since they saw each other. They had exchanged numbers so they can make plans. It just so happened that they were both free this afternoon so they agreed that she would bring takeout from the Chinese restaurant a few blocks from her place and lounge around in his room at the local B&B.

The fourth time she catches him staring at her, she calls him out on it. "Did you enjoy the other night that much that you've developed a fixation on my mouth?"

"I've been thinking about it all day." She raises an eyebrow, challenging him to say more as she notices the blush coloring his normally pale skin. "Not _that_." She frowns. "I mean, that too. And I've been wanting to return the favor since then but I really, really want to kiss you right now."

"Then what's stopping you?"

His eyes widen, making him look so innocent that she thinks he may have been working up the courage to ask permission. She remembers his claim of never having done any of this before, so she fists her hand on his shirt and pulls him to her.

Their lazy kisses turn to heated, heavy petting which she initiates because he's either too gentlemanly, one might think, or afraid. Or something else entirely, she isn't sure.

With every move he makes, he observes her reaction not only because he enjoys doing so but also because he waits for a sign from her telling him to stop.

He slowly makes his way down her body, shedding articles of clothing from both their bodies as he goes. She only manages to pull his shirt and belt off before his attention on her breasts becomes too much that her head lolls back into the pillows. And when he gets to where she wants him the most, he feels a bit of pride surge through him as he pleasures her, watching her back arch and her fingers clutch and claw at the sheets, feeling her thighs alternate between tense and lax on his shoulder and on the mattress, listening to her breaths and moans increase in volume and frequency. It leaves her panting, trying to get her senses back as he kisses his way back up her body.

"How did I do?"

He licks at the wetness on his lips, admiring the way her hair is splayed on his pillow before he dips back down and catches a nipple in his mouth. She groans and pulls at him when he sucks hard enough to make her want to get going again. She fuses her mouth with his, tastes herself on his tongue, and lets out a guttural moan.

When they pull away, breathless, she asks, "Are you sure you've never done that before?" He's still fully clothed from the waist down and she wants to complain but doesn't.

For over two weeks, they go on like this, exploring various ways to have sex without going all the way, so to speak. They meet as often as every other day to as seldom as once a week, usually depending on her schedule.

When they're not together, they go about doing their individual tasks. She tells him she spends her days either cataloguing her late grandmother's things or handling paperwork with lawyers. And he tells her he's sightseeing, just relaxing, or working out at the local gym. Occasionally, they talk on the phone during the times they're apart.

One time, their conversation takes a rather exciting turn. She's never thanked the heavens more than now that her stay here requires her to use a glorified burner phone. Otherwise, she'd definitely receive a number of reprimands, probably including mandatory attendance at a sexual harassment seminar or two.

"Where are you?" He nearly growls into the phone.

"Already on my way." She says, hanging up because she will not get into a car accident while having phone sex. And although hearing his voice over the phone while imagining him doing sinful things to her is sexy as hell, nothing compares to feeling his hot breath on her ear, her neck, her everywhere. Feeling _him_ when they finally come together.

Luckily, neither of them have anything scheduled for the evening.

 **\- x -**

The first time she actually stays and sleeps with him after a night of sex, she's woken up by a sequence of sounds — whimpers, grunts, and a shuffling of sheets. She sits up slowly and twists in place to look at the man lying behind her. She remembers him spooning her just before blissful exhaustion gave way to sleep but now he's curled at a slightly awkward angle, his head occasionally twitching as one of his legs either kicks out or flexes back in. He's covered in cold sweat and somehow looks like he's shivering despite the heating system in his room.

She feels something heavy drop inside her at the sight before her because it all looks familiar. Too familiar.

She turns so she can lie down facing him, rubbing up and down his back before dropping gentle kisses along his shoulder and nape. She scoots closer so they're skin on skin, his back to her front, then snakes her arm around his torso, hugging him from behind as she soothingly shushes him, repeating, "It's okay; you're okay."

She feels his body shudder once more before he settles back into what she hopes is a peaceful sleep. She wonders what causes his nightmares but she won't ask. And she certainly won't let him know she'd witnessed one. Because if the situations were reversed, that's how she'd want him to react. She plants one last lingering kiss in between his shoulder blades before she closes her eyes.

When she wakes, she's still on her side facing him but he's no longer in her embrace. He's lying on his side facing her, wide awake as he watches her blink the sleep away. "Good morning."

She hums. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"Maybe."

"Don't do that. 'S creepy." His smile looks silly, she thinks before she feels his lips on her own. Her eyes snap shut, savoring it before she lets a tiny sound escape and pulls away, grimacing slightly. "Morning breath."

"I thought you didn't like spooning?" He asks only because she made such a fuss about it last night before finally giving in to having a furnace warming her back.

She isn't entirely lying when she says, "I got cold. And you moved away." He makes a show of scooting closer to her, so close that their noses were nearly touching. He leans his head closer still, to kiss her but only gets to kiss her cheek when she turns her face. "Morning breath," she repeats but he only chuckles before diving back in. He may be Captain America, but Steve Rogers has always been a little shit. So he kisses her until she relents, until they're both worked up enough that she shoves at his chest.

"I'm—" Before he can even finish apologizing, she's got him on his back, her palms flat on his chest, balancing her weight as she rises above him then sinks back down.

She leans down until her lips brush his ear, all the while rocking her hips into his, and whispers, "Good morning."

 **\- x -**

One evening about a week after their one month mark, they meet at the diner to have breakfast for dinner before driving to the B&B. He's always wondered why she never asks him to her place but he's afraid that asking about it might ruin whatever it is that they have.

The roads are quiet in this part of town, especially at night. So instead of tailing her Jeep, he speeds up a little to ride on her left, apparently not embarrassed at being caught stealing glances every now and then.

"You know that's illegal, right? And dangerous?"

"It's no secret that you're beautiful." Despite the chill coming in from the open window of her Jeep, she wills her body not to heat up at the compliment; luckily, the darkness masks her failure. "I just wanted to see you like this." His eyes roam around the parts of her that are visible from where he's seated. At her raised eyebrow, he supplies, "You know, free."

She looks at him funny before she shakes her head. Having a conversation this way isn't ideal — what with the need to raise one's voice — or safe — what with their constant stolen glances, yet she continues it. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to ask you to draw me like one of your French girls?"

"I… I don't—I don't have any French girls." He looks genuinely confused. "How does that work?" She blinks and waits for him to call his own bluff but he doesn't. Maybe he _is_ genuinely confused, if the furrow in his brows is any indication. Her own furrow in disbelief over the fact that he hasn't watched what most people consider an iconic film. It leaves her torn between laughing and cursing; she does both but doesn't give him an answer.

Much later that night, after having copious amounts of sex, he traces patterns along her spine, pressing feather-light kisses on her back and shoulder as she explains _Titanic_ and the reference she mentioned earlier. They share a laugh up until she relays the story of how the great love had ended in tragedy.

 _"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."_

 _"Alright. A week next Saturday at the Stork Club."_

 _"You got it."_

 _"Eight o'clock, on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?"_

 _"You know, I still don't know how to dance."_

 _"I'll show you how, just be there."_

 _"We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your_ — _"_

His eyes cloud over and his posture goes rigid. He stops his ministrations in favor of lying on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. She's unsure what prompted such a reaction and she contemplates leaving him to his thoughts before she rolls over and holds him, unknowingly soothing him, grounding him, and, of course unbeknownst to her, reminding him that he's alive and not alone.

They stay that way for a while before he rolls her onto her back and sinks back into her, letting her adjust before slow, intense thrusts take her to a peak she's already reached a couple of times in the last few hours. If he's a little rough, she doesn't say anything, only takes what he gives and gives as good as she gets.

After getting their bearings back, he plants a chaste but lingering kiss on her lips, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before touching her forehead with his. Something about this particular round is different, she thinks. Something in him is different but she couldn't quite place it.

"Puis-je vous dessiner comme une fille franҫaise?" _May I draw you like a French girl?_

She snorts, hiding her smile into his neck and biting her lower lip to tamp down on it, endeared by his perfect, old-fashioned French. "Oui, Monsieur." She leans back to look at his face, a little blush dusting her cheeks. "Pour vos yeux seulement." _For your eyes only._

He's not even surprised she speaks French. "Always."

Something in the word flashes warning signs at the back of her mind but he grins and the warning fades into the background, filed away to be revisited at a later date. He takes her mouth in a sweet kiss before getting up and preparing his sketch pad.

As he works on his masterpiece, she watches him and finds it sexy how a tiny crease appears on his eyebrows when he's so absorbed by and intent on something. And as she looks at him, she wonders what it is about him that makes her stay and reach for him when her mind keeps yelling at her to run away. She wants so badly to up and straddle him right then and there but she gives him this.

When he declares he's finished, she does just that and needless to say, neither of them are inclined to leave his room until well after the sun has set again.

* * *

 _A/N: If any native or fluent non-native French speakers read this, feel free to let me know if I got anything wrong so I can fix it; I only sat down with a dictionary and what's left of what I learned from my language elective. And as always, thank you for reading and for being patient with me._


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Notes: Life is getting a little overwhelming and being the master procrastinator that I am (especially when it comes to ~adulting), here's an update. This is getting a lot longer than I expected it to be, tbh. But the development still makes sense to me and I hope that's the case for everyone else._

* * *

He had just exited the shower when he heard a knock. "Just a second!" He takes a pair of sweatpants out from a drawer when he hears her announce herself. So he opts not to pull them on when he happily answers the door.

"Hey!" His grin falls, however, when he's greeted with the sight of her scowling face atop her incredibly tense shoulders — a little less put-together than he's used to. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head and just like that, the irritated and/or upset look was gone. She walks past him, seemingly oblivious of his state of dress — or undress. "It's nothing, really. Just had a long day. A really, really long day." He shuts the door and directs his concerned look at her.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No." She plops down on the side of the bed she's claimed. "Just… You know those days when nothing goes your way?" She shifts to lie on her side to face him as he makes his way to his side of the bed. When she does, she sees the pair of sweatpants he'd flung unceremoniously on the bed before he opened the door. "What are these—" She cuts herself off when she finally notices him, hair still damp from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Oh. Well, _hello_." She lifts herself up a bit to rest her weight on her elbow as she eyes him up and down with a smirk that spells mischief.

At this point, he doesn't even bother fighting or hiding the flush of heat that creeps up from his core. "Hi," he responds with a shy smile.

"I hear _exercise_ lifts a person's mood, endorphins and all. What do you say, Milkshake?" The teasing, saucy smile she sends him coupled with her gentle patting of the bed almost has him giving in to what he had initially planned when he heard her muffled voice from the other side of the door, before opening it to find her so tightly strung. However, he is known for being strong-willed (read: stubborn).

"Let me just get dressed." He moves to return the sweatpants in exchange for a pair of boxers and jeans and pulls them on with her watching.

"That's generally _not_ how sex works; you should know that by now." She raises an eyebrow. "And if you don't, then maybe I haven't been doing my job well."

He turns to give her a pointed look as he secures his belt and grabs a plain white shirt. He still feels a little naked with just his undershirt on when he goes out but that seems to be the norm now; it's oddly comfortable, maybe that's why. "I'll have you know," he pauses as he pulls the shirt on. "That you have been a great teacher, not by the book at all, I imagine. Also so beautiful. Amazing. Incredible. Unbeliev—Oof." He turns to her before looking at the floor by his feet. "Did you just throw a pillow at my head?"

She bats her eyes, pulling an obviously fake innocent expression. "Me? Oh, no. Maybe the pillow suddenly decided to shut you up?"

"You jest. But I have an idea I'm sure you'll enjoy." He walks over to her and bends to give her a chaste kiss before going to put his boots on. "Well, I'm not _sure_ but I hope you do enjoy it."

"What is it?" She sits up when he doesn't respond. "You should know, I'm not fan of surprises."

"It's the good kind."

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much."

"Fine." He huffs in feigned frustration as he makes his way back to the bed and sits beside her. "I am taking you for a ride this afternoon."

She blinks. "That better not be a sex joke." This time, he actually huffs then dangles the keys to his Harley between them. "Can I drive?"

"Uh uh." He brings his hand behind his back when she tries to reach for it. " _I_ am taking _you_ for a ride." She tries a second time and it leaves her lying half on top of him, his hand trapped underneath their weight.

She hums and leans down until her lips lightly brush against his. "Or we could stay." They exchange a few kisses but when she licks at his lips to seek entrance, trying to deepen it, he flips them over so he's on top then plants a quick kiss on her lips before standing up.

"Come on. The speed, the wind on your face… It's a nice feeling."

"It'll be nicer if you let me drive."

He makes a show of thinking about it as he pulls her up off the bed. "Maybe I'll let you drive us back. But right now, I want to feel your arms wrapped around me."

They ride for a little over an hour before he finally parks under a tree on top of a hill steep enough to provide a good view, some peace and quiet, and a literal breath of fresh air. "I know you don't want anything public but—"

"No, no. This is…" She sits down on the grass by the tree, taking in the view. "The ride was helpful but this is amazing."

He sits down beside her, their thighs touching. "I found this hill the day before I met you, actually. I've been coming here ever since, just to think or whenever things get a little overwhelming."

She shivers despite her leather jacket when the wind picks up a bit. She's a little startled when he moves all of a sudden so that the heat beside her has transferred behind her and she is seated between his legs, leaning into his chest with his back against the tree trunk. She hums, contented as she accepts his embrace.

They sit in comfortable silence, the kind that makes him wonder about how easily they seem to accept each other's presence. He occasionally peppers kisses all over her face until it makes her laugh because her laugh is beautiful, sight and sound. He gives her neck and shoulders a massage that has her burrowing more into his warmth. And then, he rests his jaw lightly against her temple and just breathes deeply, thinking about how nice it would be to have the whole world this peaceful.

"World peace…" He's startled when she speaks, only to realize he probably voiced his thoughts out loud. "It's what we all work towards. Ironically, it's why battles need to be fought."

He sighs. "Why can't it just be as simple as being free means being at peace with oneself and others?"

"In an ideal world, maybe. But the one we live in is far from ideal. People and nations differ in politics and culture, among others. Their perspectives on peace and freedom either vary in degrees or contrast entirely. It seems the safest compromise is to co-exist, but as you can see, even that isn't foolproof."

"Do you like politics? Or does your work require you to keep track of it?"

She forces her body to stay lax. If he's fishing, growing tense from a simple question would be suspicious. "I dabble in it when necessary." She answers vaguely, giving him bits and pieces to satisfy his curiosity. "Working in security does require it every now and then." _World_ security, so it's technically not a lie.

"Oh?" He runs his fingers through her hair, bringing it to her other side so he can nuzzle her neck. "Must be interesting."

"It's never boring, that I can tell you. Except when you're assigned to babysit obnoxious brats." Technically still not a lie, because just recently, a certain billionaire proved to be a huge pain in the ass by keeping his near-death a secret and she definitely does not envy Nat's position in that SNAFU.

They share a laugh before they settle into comfortable silence once again. She may not have opened up about what upset her earlier but he's glad he knows a little bit more about her now.

Just after the sun sets, he dangles the keys right in front of her face. "Ready to head back?"

She snatches the keys up quickly then turns in place to cup his cheeks and give him a loud, sloppy kiss that makes him chuckle. When she's settled on the bike with her helmet in hand, she turns to hand him his only to find him still seated on the grass, gazing at her. She stifles a shiver, thinking his eyes are somehow shining as the dim light of twilight settles into dusk.

"Coming?"

With her? "Of course."

 **\- x -**

They haven't seen each other in five days. Her grandmother's will and paperwork have taken up so much of her time, she says. So after a quick brunch, she asks if he's willing to have their dessert to-go in favor of coming home with her. He thinks he agrees a little too quickly but the look on her face somehow tells him she approves or at least appreciates it.

"They're staying with me." She raises the brown paper bag housing a slice each of the diner's pies. "Because hot as that bike of yours is, I don't trust it with something so delicious."

"Does that mean you want me there too?"

When he blushes — and boy, does he ever — right after saying that, she bursts out in laughter. She shakes her head because she does not find that contrast of virtue and sin endearing. Or adorable. Not at all.

With laughter still evident in her voice, she says, "Just follow me. Lose me and you'll lose the pies."

"Never."

They get to her house — well, her late grandmother's which is now hers as he knows it — and he stares up in awe. He wonders at how much of an architectural beauty it is compared to most of the places he's been in the past two months.

"Your house is...huge." He toes off his shoes when she does. "Do you live here alone?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I just think—Doesn't it get a little lonely?" He discards his jacket and drapes it on the back of the couch as they make their way into what he guesses is the kitchen. "I mean, it's lovely and all, really, but I guess I'd prefer a cozy little place even if it's a little cramped."

"Hey, I invited you over to have some of Croods' pie; don't judge." She places the pies in the oven to heat them as she rummages through drawers for utensils.

"Sorry," he mutters then does a double-take as he sits on one of the stools lining the counter. "You call the diner 'Croods'?"

She shrugs. "That's what the sign says. 'Crossroads' is a little overrated." She takes the pies out and by the time she sets the last slice in front of him, there's a sheen of sweat on her forehead and neck. "You can start without me, I'll just…" She pops a collar and trails off as she disappears through another entryway. She emerges a few minutes later, having traded her outfit in for a tank top and a pair of sweatpants, and sits next to him. "You haven't started?"

"I was waiting for you." He chooses to ignore her eye-roll because she was smiling anyway.

"So, where do we start?"

"You know what? I haven't tried their cherry pie. Is it any good?"

"I haven't tried it either. Hey, are those almonds?" He takes a forkful of said pie and lets it hover in front of her mouth. "I can feed myself, Milkshake."

"I know you can. I just—" His gaze intent on her mouth as he moves his hand closer until she gives in and accepts the forkful of pie. She sees his mouth open slightly, as if he were breathless and she knows what's about to happen but she doesn't fight it when he claims her mouth mid-chew. It reminds her of the young couples she's seen exchanging gums on the subway. She's always found the act terribly unhygienic and yet somehow, this man has managed to get her all hot and bothered with every lick, every sweep of tongue against tongue.

When they pull away to breathe, she rests her forehead on his jaw as she swallows the remnants of pie in her mouth and tries to regain her breathing and keep her head from spinning further. She feels the bob of his throat when he swallows and looks up. "That was…"

"Delicious," he whispers and places a chaste kiss on her lips.

She shakes her head. "Disgusting." His eyes widen and she could tell he was about to apologize. She stops him with her thumb on his lower lip, her fingers splayed over his neck and jaw. "But yes, delicious. And kinda hot."

They're grinning like idiots before she straddles his hips and pulls him close for a proper kiss. However, before their lips even meet, the moment is interrupted by a loud rumbling stomach.

"Already?" She asks through their laughter. "We just had brunch."

"A rather hurried one. And what can I say, I'm a growing boy; I have needs." He leans forward and pulls at her lower lip with his teeth, drawing a little moan from her as his hands slip up the back of her tank top to caress the skin just above the waistband of her sweatpants.

She clears her throat and lightly pushes against his chest to disentangle her body from his. He pouts at her as he watches her rummage through the fridge for the eggs and bacon she bought the last time he visited. She sets them on the counter then looks up at him to find him still pouting. "Not gonna work this time. Food first, come on." She gestures towards the stove. "I'd do it but—"

"No." He finally makes his way to the stove. "I'm not watching you burn water again, Flannel."

She backs away when he leans down to kiss her. "Nuh uh. Sustenance over sex, babe." Her eyes widen slightly once she realized what she just let slip. That term of endearment has no place here. Luckily for her, he doesn't show any indication that he'd noticed.

After consuming the food he prepared along with the pies they brought home, they find themselves in the den, settled on the soft rug, leaning back against the couch with a fleece blanket draped over them. Having foregone sex in lieu of cuddling in front of the fireplace, they have quiet conversations about everything and nothing.

He's chuckling a bit as he traces the stitches of the sweatpants covering the thighs draped over his lap. "Would you believe I used to get beaten up in alleys back in the day?" Realizing his slip, he corrects himself. "Back when I was younger." He leans his head on hers. "But Bucky, he always came for me."

Her head jerks up from his shoulder when his grip on her waist tightens slightly. "Huh?" He tilts his head a bit to look at her with the light from the fire dancing across her sleep-addled features.

"Nothing." He shakes his head. "Beautiful," he whispers as he gently massages her scalp and brings her closer to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Go back to sleep."

He feels her shuffle closer before wrapping her arms around his middle but he says nothing. He only smiles until sleep claims him too.

 **\- x -**

When he picks up on the fourth ring, she skips the pleasantries and barrels on. "Do you want to come over?"

She hears him clear his throat before answering with a voice still thick with sleep. "Sure. What time?" When she tells him 'now', he can't help the part of him that immediately jumps into concern and a bit of panic. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" She sounds a little weary but he waits. "I kinda want you here."

A corner of his mouth curls up slightly despite the tension he feels. "See you in 15."

When he gets to her house, it's a little dark but he can hear a bit of soft music coming from inside as he rings the doorbell. She opens it and he's greeted by the sight of her wrapped in a fluffy white robe, her hair up in a messy bun. She leans into him to kiss him in greeting but he foregoes it to shut the door behind him and run his hands gently all over her body, as if checking for injuries. When he's a little satisfied upon finding nothing, he pulls her close in a warm embrace, kissing her temple before whispering, "You're okay."

"I told you that over the phone." Her words were muffled by his shoulder but it doesn't hide the slight amusement in her tone.

"I know, I just—I've been here a couple of times but you've never asked me to come over. And certainly not at this hour."

She pulls back to look over her shoulder at the grandfather clock on the far side of the room; it read about a few minutes to midnight. "Sorry, I didn't realize how late it was."

"No, it's not that. I'm glad you called me. You can, you know? Anytime." He kisses the side of her head before running his fingers soothingly through her hair until the hair gives and the bun unfurls. "I just worry." So much that he apparently forgot to wear a jacket. Luckily, the cool night air has nothing on him. "You seem tired."

She just hums as she burrows her face into him and inhales. "I am, but I'm fine." Her voice comes out muffled again then she pulls away and tugs at one of his hands. "Come on, I was just about to run myself a bath before you got here."

He simply nods and follows her absently. When they reach the door to the en suite in her bedroom, he pauses and lightly tugs at her hand. "Umm…?"

She tilts her head. "I'm going to run myself a bath, Milkshake. You can wait out here." She lets his hand go and walks in, undoing the tie on her robe and drops it on the floor before turning around. "But you're welcome to join me."

She stifles a laugh at his shocked expression and takes pity on him so she pulls her hair up in another messy bun and proceeds to prepare her bath. She feels a thrill over the fact that despite the intimacies they've shared in the past weeks, she can still manage to cause his brain to short circuit.

By the time he has his bearings back and enters the bathroom, he finds her already relaxing in the huge tub, eyes closed with a small smile on her lips. The warm, humid atmosphere in the room smells distinctly of lavender and vanilla and the sight of her in the slightly bubbly water just sends shockwaves up and down his spine, his fingertips, his—

"Are you going to stare at me all night or are you going to join me?" When he looks back at her face, he sees her watching him with mild amusement. He starts taking off his shirt and feels pride course through his veins at the hungry, appreciative look in her eyes.

She watches him strip until he's completely naked, watching her watch him, never once breaking eye contact. When she holds out her hand for him, he accepts it and waits for her to scoot forward to accommodate him behind her. The tub is big enough for two, maybe even three, so they settle comfortably with matching sighs of content when she leans back into his chest feeling him envelope her whole body.

"You know, I was planning to surprise you tomorrow. I know you're not a fan of surprises but I thought maybe flowers, chocolates, and a surprise visit?"

"Why? You don't have to do any of that."

"I wanted to." He pauses before answering her question. "Two months, tomorrow." A second later, he feels her body stiffen. "I know…" _That all this is fleeting_. He sighs, caressing the slippery skin on her abdomen to help her relax before pulling her closer to him, as if skin on skin wasn't enough. "I might as well give you what you deserve while it lasts."

She forces her body to stay put and relax despite her brain screaming for her to flee because— "I'm leaving."

"Already?" They both pretend the hurt, desperate tone was nonexistent. But damn it, it was there. Along with the strength in his arms as they tighten around her body.

"No." She squeezes his arms. "Not that." She traces random circles into the skin of his forearm before adding, "Not yet." His hold on her remains tight and she wants so badly to extricate herself from his arms, from him. But she also wants to stay. "I'm needed at work. I'm leaving tomorrow but I'll be back in about a week."

The silence stretches before he brushes his lips against her ear and says, "I'll miss you."

She feels a lump form in her throat at his raw declaration but she doesn't get to dwell on it because she feels one of his hands move up from her abdomen to her jaw, eliciting a soft gasp from her when it brushes the pebbled tips of her breasts on its way up. He gently turns her head to him and kisses her.

It's not the most comfortable position, she thinks, but she loses all thought when his hand goes back down to cup a breast. She gasps once more, her open mouth allowing his tongue entrance and permission to dance with hers. His other hand moves south, past her hips, fingers caressing her slit before they plunge into familiar warm depths. The combined sensations of his mouth on hers, his hands all over her, and his cock poking her ass has her eyes rolling back and her breathing loud and shallow.

He lets go of her breast with one last flick on its tip before lifting her legs, one by one so they're both resting on his, more open now to his ministrations. His mouth leaves hers in favor of sucking at the skin on her neck, leaving little love bites all over. And because he desperately wants to her hear her. But she's stubborn, struggling to keep herself silent. He crooks the fingers still inside her and strokes his thumb on her clit, once, twice, before pressing into it.

The day has left her exhausted and she knows she should rest instead of letting him have his way with her but she can't bring herself to stop him, not even when his too-hot-too-slow rhythm is frustrating, borderline torturous. Not when every touch, every kiss makes her feel alive.

This isn't sex; this is making love. She wonders when the shift happened. How long it's been.

But when she hears her own scream echo in the walls of the bathroom as her pleasure reaches its peak, she finds that her only regret is knowing it will end. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

* * *

 _A/N: Yes, "soon." Well, there you have it. Do you guys think this chapter warrants another change in the rating?_


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Notes: Hello. This took a lot longer than I expected but I hope you guys are still with me._

* * *

"I thought you said nothing public?"

She's been back for all of five minutes after a week and a half of being gone, and she's asked him if he wanted to go to an amusement park. "I saw this hand-painted ad yesterday and it reminded me of you. You promised you'd let me ride your bike again; I figured maybe I could trade this for a go."

"You don't need to trade anything, I'll let you do it anyway." When she just looks away, he pulls her close and kisses her hair. "You want to go all the way there on my bike?"

She nods. "I want to take the long way, avoid the traffic and have at least a 2-hour ride. And I thought I might enjoy watching you flip your shit when we get there."

"Oh, really? That would make your day, wouldn't it?"

"It would be incredibly satisfying to watch you go green. You know, you who can carry me with just one arm."

"You mean like this?" He lifts her up on the counter and she giggles; she would swear to anyone who would listen that she _never_ giggles. And if anyone at work ever found out, she would be twice the hardass she's ever been to make them regret they ever knew that little detail about her.

"Show off."

"What else are you looking forward to making fun of tomorrow?"

"Hearing your deep voice turn shrill when you're shrieking like a hyena."

He leans closer and turns slightly to speak directly to her ear in a voice darker than normal. "I didn't know you liked my voice so much." He pulls her jacket sideways to expose her shoulder and kisses her there. "I like yours too." Then he kisses her up her neck. "I like you."

"Let's not get carried away." She chastises him a little, her voice carrying a hint of warning even as she tilts her head to give him more access.

"Right. So what else are you looking forward to?" He sucks at her pulse point as he pushes the leather all the way off her shoulders and down her arms.

"Winning you the most obnoxious prize their stalls have and making you carry it around."

He pulls back from her skin to look at her. "You're really out to embarrass me? What did I ever do to you?"

She hums. "If I tell you, you're gonna want to take me to bed."

He glances beside her. "Why ask for a bed when there's a perfectly available counter right here?"

"Oh, that's how you want to play, huh?" When he smirks at her, she raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I'll try to keep up. Besides, we'll never find out if we don't try, right?" He nudges her nose with his then kisses along her jaw.

"Someone's feeling a little bold. Weren't you the mild-mannered man I met about two months ago?"

"What can I say? You're a _bad_ influence," He drawls, a teasing lilt made deliberately audible because he somehow knows that she is anything but. Her response gets cut off when he nips at her collarbone and soothes it with his tongue. Then his breath is by her ear, lips brushing the shell as he whispers, "You make me feel like I can do anything."

She pulls away to look at him, dazed eyes suddenly serious. And when he thinks he's ruined it yet again, she cups his cheek, her thumb grazing his bottom lip. "You make me feel like I can be…" _More._ "Anyone." _Myself._

They gaze into each other's eyes for a while as the world around them seemingly fades into nothing. She blinks and suddenly he can see the shift in her — she's about to shut down and he can't have that. "You're right…" He briefly nips on her thumb. "We're going to need a bed, _babe_." The emphasis on 'babe', obviously meant to tease her, to keep things light despite the weight of vague confessions.

She shivers and leans back to look at him, her surprise not even masked in the slightest. "You heard that?" She'd slipped once and called him babe and he hasn't said anything about it so she assumed he hadn't heard it. Apparently, he did, if the wide grin splitting his face in half is any indication.

He only looks intently into her eyes before taking her mouth with his. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist when he carries her, leaving a trail of discarded clothes as they make their way up the stairs with an urgency and a desperation they've never felt before.

 **\- x -**

"Maria!"

She turns at the call of her name to find the old woman from whom she buys her fresh produce making her way towards them. "Susan, hi! How have you been? And little Leila?"

"We're fine, dear! You look great." The old woman smiles sweetly before her eyes widen. "Oh, oh! The charming Brit, you remember him? The one you met at the store?"

"The cupcake thief? Yeah, Edward, was it? No, wait, Cedric?"

"Erik, dear, Erik Sails. He's been asking about you." At this point, Maria almost instantly feels a warm presence behind her and resists the urge to roll her eyes. "I was wondering why you haven't been around as much as before." Susan's eyes slant towards the man standing beside her. "Now I know why. Can't say I blame you." The older woman gives her a knowing smile.

Maria feels the heat creeping up her neck, first because she feels like a teenager caught doing something (or someone) she shouldn't be doing and second, because blushing fits into the woman Susan knows her to be — strong and intelligent though a little more on the demure side of the scale.

"Susan," she gives the older woman a pointed look and proceeds to introduce them but runs into a bit of a problem. "This is Mi—" She cuts herself off before she says 'Milkshake'. "I mean, he's my…" She trails off because this presents yet another problem, specifically the one concerning what they are to each other. She really should've stuck to her 'nothing public' rule, damn it. "He's…" She feels rather embarrassed when she finishes her statement with, "Mine." And despite the embarrassment, she finds herself smiling at the idea. _Hers._

When she turns to look at him, his expression is a mixture of amusement and desire laced with something else she can't quite identify at the moment. She releases the breath she apparently sucked in in anticipation of his reaction. Their staring — gazing — is interrupted by the person they seem to have forgotten they were talking to.

"Oh, kids these days, not wanting labels… Well, say no more. But you, young man—"

"Steve, Ma'am," he supplies as he offers his hand for her to shake.

Susan raises an eyebrow and smiles at Maria in a gesture of approval that has the younger woman biting back a smile and shaking her head. "Well, Steve, Maria is a fine young lady, quite the catch."

"She definitely is." His grin could rival a sunrise.

"Be good to her."

"I will."

"Hold onto her."

"Susan—" Maria starts but his response catches her off guard.

"I plan to, as long as she'd let me."

Susan nods then turns to Maria. "I better get back to my granddaughter then. She begged me to take her since her parents couldn't and I couldn't say no." She chuckles. "Take care of yourselves. I hope to see you lovebirds around."

"I'll come by tomorrow morning, Susan."

"No, no. Just enjoy your days with this fine, young man."

A few seconds after their encounter with Susan, Maria is not surprised that Steve—No, no names. He asks, "So Erik Sails, huh?" This time, she does roll her eyes.

"Yeah, the not-quite-British bastard who stole the last cupcake in Susan's store." He looks at her for explanation. "She gives free cupcakes every Sunday for people who purchase the item of the day. He got to the cashier before I did; hence, the last cupcake went to him."

"Sounds like a fair win, if you ask me."

She stops in her tracks and stares at him in disbelief. "I am offended."

"I'll give you all the cupcakes you want. I'll even learn how to bake."

"Huge goddamn sap is what you are." She looks away to hide her smile.

"I'm serious."

She only sends him a warning glance before she changes the topic. "Come on, lots of rides to try, booths to visit, and prizes to win. Don't flake out on me now, Milkshake."

"Never," he answers as he lets her drag him into a photobooth. He so badly wants to call her by her name now that he knows what it is. _Maria._ But she hasn't called him by his so he follows her cue and simply pulls her close. "Flannel."

 **\- x -**

"I'm almost—Fuck." She's never been vocal in love-making — sex, god, this is just sex — except for that one time he got her to scream as she came. But this time, she's loose, free, and she can't seem to get herself to stop. "Please." She shuts her eyes and mentally curses herself because she does not beg. But he kisses her, gently coaxing her to look at him as he reaches between them to give her exactly what she wants, needs. She tries her damnedest to keep her eyes open and locked on his — dark, dazed, and dilated but unmistakably blue even in the darkness of the moonlight — and she succeeds despite the fog of pleasure momentarily clouding her vision.

The keening cry she lets out is music to his ears, a symphony to his fractured soul. And now that he knows her name, he wonders how he's managed to lose himself in sight, sound, and feeling without ever calling out a name. Because although he may have forgotten his own name right this moment, he can feel hers bubbling up his throat, slithering to the tip of his tongue—

"Steve!"

And in that moment — the very moment she screamed his name in a raw, husky voice as bliss took over — he's gone, spilling into her with choked breaths and ragged gasps. He feels tears prickling behind his closed eyes and he doesn't know why. All he knows as he lets her leg slide down from his shoulder is her name. So with a final whisper that elicits a shiver from her, quiet and reverent, he says, "Maria."

A few moments later, when he's lying on his back with her body plastered to his side and her head pillowed on his shoulder as the roaring of their pulses quiets down, he feels a strange ache creeping into his chest. He can't explain it but it's there and he wonders if the woman lying beside him — Maria, _Maria_ — can feel the sudden pounding of his heart. Minutes pass and he still has no clue why even the hairs on the back of his neck seem to stand on attention so he distracts himself.

"You never got to tell me." She's about to fall asleep so she just hums her question. "You never got to tell me why you're out to embarrass me," he finishes, chuckling.

She buries her face in his shoulder as she feels her cheeks heat up. She turns her head to face him when she feels his hand slide by her waist to rest on her hip in reassurance. "You…" She gently feels for his face in the dark. She runs her fingers along his brow as she continues, "Are insatiable." She shifts to rest her chin on his shoulder.

"Can you blame me? You're irresistible," he responds, quiet yet no less sincere.

Her chuckle is humorless but she responds with, "I'm not but you make me believe I am. And I'm embarrassed to admit that you've got me craving for you. Every goddamn day."

"We can still have that, you know." She just sighs, tired and a little exasperated. "I know, I'm sorry. I just…" He moves his arm so he can wrap it more securely around her shoulders. "The past two months have been great. I'm not ready to...go back to how things were before I met you." He tightens his hold on her. "I'm not sure I want to."

She hums. She isn't sure how to respond because honestly, if it weren't for her inherent sense of duty, she'd give in to the same feeling that's been simmering inside her. And it's right in this moment when she's finally able to place the feeling, the shift. He's in too deep and he's dragging her with him. That has to be it because she refuses to acknowledge the possibility of it being the other way around.

"Promise me one thing, Maria: when you leave, at least let me say goodbye?" He says quietly. He waits for her answer but it doesn't come. "Maria?" He smiles to himself when he finds out she's fallen asleep. And with one last kiss on the top of her head, he succumbs to slumber.

He doesn't know that she simply forced her breathing to even out because she knows she can't give him what he's asking for. She keeps her eyes closed and calms herself down by thinking of the one word she can use to describe what her name on his lips feels: bittersweet. And right before she falls asleep, her last wish is that he doesn't feel how wildly her heart is beating right now.

 **\- x -**

He shifts in his sleep and reaches for the warmth of her body but his hand only meets air and cold, empty sheets. He's up before his brain forms a coherent thought. He looks around, wondering why something akin to dread is creeping up the back of his neck, similar to the ache he felt in his chest earlier.

He spots a small piece of paper on the pillow on her side of the bed. He picks it up and in the light of dawn sees a cut out from the strip of photos they took at the photobooth in the amusement park. It's one of the many photos where he kissed her on the cheek while she was laughing. It makes him smile for a second before he flips the photo and sees words he never thought could hurt so much.

 _I'm sorry._

* * *

 _A/N: So, umm, those last two words? Those are for you too, for the late update and, as some of you may have guessed, for the end of what has been a huge fluff piece so far. If this work had parts, this would be the end of Part I. Thoughts?_


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Notes: Hello. This is the first time I'm doing any of this — this, being action/suspense — so please bear with me. There are elements based on and minor allusions to Criminal Minds but there's no need to have background information on it to understand this chapter (although if you're looking for a crime show, it's really good). Everything else is still ~mine apart from the obvious (Marvel) so... I hope you enjoy the read if not the events, necessarily._

* * *

When she comes to, her head is throbbing and she bites back a groan. Her knees ache from having supported her weight on the concrete floor for god knows how long. Her shoulders and arms seem to have fallen asleep so she tries to inconspicuously bring feeling back into them. It takes her hazy mind just seconds to recognize the clanging sound and register the cool metal of handcuffs on the raw skin of her wrists as her forearm brushes against the metal pole her back is resting against. She feels around it and figures out that not only are her wrists cuffed but the chains connecting the cuffs are wound securely on the other side of the metal pole.

"Maria?"

Her eyes snap open and she barely manages to keep from wincing at the sudden bright and hazy lighting of the room. She keeps her head hanging low, however, and blinks repeatedly until the blur turns clear. She knows this voice. She scours her memories for the owner of the voice and when it registers despite the fog in her mind, she mentally curses at having possibly endangered an innocent old woman. "Susan?"

"Susanna. Susan is for when I..." She trails off when her voice breaks. This makes Maria look up to where the voice is coming from and sees the very woman seated on a chair on one side of the otherwise empty room. She checks for any signs of injury and finds none on the old woman's olive skin. A second later, she realizes Susanna also has no shackles of any kind. "I'm so sorry, Maria."

 _Midnight is fast-approaching and she's more than a few steps away from the store she buys her produce from when she spots Susan outside instead of up in the apartment above the store. She wonders how the old woman looks calm after the text she sent Maria about her missing granddaughter. If she is to help this poor old woman, she can't afford to have any witnesses, any casualties._

 _"Susan! How are you holding up? Have you called the police?"_

 _"I'm fine. But no, dear, I haven't."_

 _"Why not? And what are you doing out here?" Maria is on high alert. Something's off._

 _The old woman pauses and looks apologetic when she answers. "Waiting."_

 _Definitely off. "For what?"_

 _She hears a scuffle of feet behind and whips around with her hand stretched out, keeping the old woman behind her, and catches a glimpse of four or so men. She thinks her chances still look good, especially if she could just reach either of her boots but that thought fizzles out when she feels a sharp sting on her neck. And suddenly, her body feels heavy then numb, her vision is swimming, and everything turns black._

"Why?" The tone of her voice breeds no doubt about her anger and has no room for any argument or dillydallying.

"He has my granddaughter and—" Her own sob cuts off her speech but she manages to continue. "He'll kill Leila if I—"

She feels her stomach drop at that but she forces herself to focus. This SNAFU can still go six ways from Sunday but she needs to focus. Her gaze darts all over the room, looking for cameras or any visible signs of bugs but finds none. "Is he watching?" When the old woman shakes her head, she follows up with, "Listening?"

"No, this is—We're safe."

 _Safe_? She almost laughs bitterly but she catches herself. "How are you connected to him?"

"He's her father."

Well, fuck.

Maria's not a stranger to assholes as fathers and father figures but using one's child as a leverage and collateral to assure the compliance of another in a crime, let alone an international human trafficking and experimentation ring? This is a whole new level up the sociopathic ladder.

"Does she know? Leila?"

"He finds it amusing to punish me by regaling me with stories of every abduction and I have taken to writing them down. But not Leila, thank the Heavenly Father. All she knows is her father has to travel and can only be with us in the latter half of the year." Susanna wipes at her tears. "Sometimes, during the first half, he brings us to whatever continent, wherever he needs us. Tells my granddaughter it is for vacation but really he just needs me to get the special ones."

"Special ones?"

"Yes, like you. Young, beautiful, healthy; those that someone somewhere is bound to miss, those not roaming the streets or living in the sewers, those more difficult to take."

Low-risk victims. Victims who probably only wanted to help or be friendly to an old lady. Special _ones_. Plural. She knew there was more to this than a simple "cleansing of the streets" as the local cops everywhere liked to write it off. The FBI were right to involve Interpol. But not even they have been exposed to the otherworldly horrors that SHIELD has seen. And human experimentation is right up SHIELD's alley, as twisted as that sounds.

"Where's her mother?"

"Lana, my beautiful daughter, she—" She watches Susanna's face twist in pain. "She was the first he—" Maria waits for the old woman's sobs to subside before asking again. "She never wanted his child. She did not want a reminder of what he had done to her. But he forced her to carry the baby to term and she fell into depression. He hated doctors so he never had her checked and when she gave birth, she caught an infection. He thought he could fix her until she—" She cleared her throat. "She no longer looked like my Lana when I saw her on her death bed."

Her mind is already running a mile a minute. This is brand new information their intel had not been able to provide. If this were an epidemic, Lana would've been patient zero. And she supposes maybe that's the case in Eriksen's mind. It's possible that the rest of the victims are surrogates for the original object of his obsession. But it's also possible that something simply snapped inside of him after having a taste of playing God on the lives of other people. Oh, the irony. But his victimology seems off. The high-risk victims, and the low-risk ones on the side… Then it clicks. Of course, any _scientist_ would know to have control group and an experimental one.

Fuck, this whole thing is twisted on so many levels at unfathomably warped proportions.

A faint click resounds in the room and they stare at each other for a while before Susanna looks away to wipe at her tear-stained face. And in the old woman's preoccupation, she doesn't notice the change in the position of Maria's body.

The door opens suddenly and in walks a smug Erik Sails — or, Silas Eriksen as SHIELD knows him. He takes one look at Susanna and his face twists into pure annoyance. "Susan, why must you insist on telling everyone about that horrid story?"

"I will tell anyone who would listen!"

"No," he answers in a joking manner that, Maria used to think, only obnoxious teenagers are capable of. "What you do is cruel, do you not think?" Neither of the women respond so he continues, "You tell them a bedtime story each time but you know that none of them are going to bed." He tuts. "Cruel."

 **\- x -**

He looks around his room at the B&B and sees no trace of her. _Maria_.

She told him they had at least three months. But it's only been approaching two and a half — two months and 11 days, to be exact, because yes, he was counting. However, even without the photo and the apology, he just knows that what he had with Maria was over.

She always, always kisses him awake when she has to leave. Or groans and pushes his weight off of her, mumbling about getting squished if she feels particularly playful. Or stays in bed, propped up against the headboard, and switches on a light when she feels like doing whatever paperwork she needs done at 2AM until he grumbles for her to come back to bed. Or puts on the coffee grinder while seemingly banging every item on every surface either to force him to wake up grumpy too or to let him coax her out of her grumpy stupor.

But she's never just up and left. Not even when this _thing_ between them started. This time, it's different; the photo she left on her pillow makes it feel final and her words cement it.

"Maria," he whispers into the air. He loves the way her name rumbles in his throat, rolls out of his tongue. He loves how his first thought when he found out her name was how much it suits her, unassumingly gorgeous, humbly rich, silently strong. He loves the shiver he got in response to his whisper of her name after they had made love. He loves her name. He loves—

No. She left. She left without saying goodbye and now he associates her name to something else: beautifully tragic. Because that's what they had, that's how they ended.

No, wait—Of course, she left. Because everyone leaves. Peggy left him for the future. Bucky left him for eternal rest. Yet to some extent, Maria leaving him hurts more. He may not know her reasons but he knows she _chose_ to.

 _You're alone._

 _You make them leave._

 _You don't deserve them._

 _They're better off without you._

He's hated bullies all his life. He forgets that sometimes the biggest bully is his own mind.

 **\- x -**

She figures it's only a matter of time before the building's sensors pick up on her signal; that is, if it's equipped with that kind of technology. It's either that or this building's about to see some fireworks. And she's right. Because a few minutes later, the bastard comes back looking a tad annoyed but also impressed.

"Ms.," He pauses and looks down at the card he's holding. "Hayes, Maria—Can I call you Maria?" A tiny smirk appears on her features. "Is that your real name? I think not, but it is no matter." He waves the card — her driver's license — carelessly, as if to emphasize his point.

In her peripheral vision, she sees Susanna looking from her to Eriksen and back, managing to look contrite despite her screwed up features from crying too much.

"Intruders die, Maria," he says in a singsong manner. "That is my rule. But no intruder has ever entered the premises, certainly not the guarded, reinforced steel door."

"I'm not an intruder; you let me in." She watches his face twist like a brat about to throw a tantrum before a sinister grin replaces it.

He walks towards her until he's at an arm's length from her. "Your arrogance and willpower suggest skill. Let us see if you do not fold under duress," he pauses, lifting her head by her chin to face him. "I regret that such beauty will be laid to waste." She forcibly turns her head to shake his hand off but looks back up to steadily meet his gaze. "Who do you work for?"

She doesn't answer. Only tilts her head to the side and raises an eyebrow. She knows she's provoking him. Usually, when sociopaths give in, that's when they slip up. But he already has, big time, by letting Susanna know every detail of his business in his desire to punish her more than he already has. And then again, by mistaking Maria for a nobody and bringing her right into his den. She only needs to keep his focus on her and not on the old woman. And she succeeds when he turns to Susanna and orders her out.

"Keep the muscled man company; he is beginning to… What is it you say? Lose his head? But you…" He turns back to Maria who steadily meets his gaze despite the newfound and well-hidden dread she feels over what he just said. "You see, that was how I knew it had to be you."

Although at the moment, she doesn't feel like she's succeeded in any way because his hand around her throat — weak as he may be compared to all the others she's gone up against — is squeezing the air right out of her lungs.

"Who do you work for?" He repeats the question once more but the only response he gets is the rattling of the cuffs against the metal pole.

"I take it back. I suppose bedtime stories are appropriate in this situation. After all, stainless steel tables are beds too." He lets her go, his expression bright as if he's had an epiphany. His gaze trained on Maria as he takes a few steps backward. "I will fix you next. But first…"

Only his hysterical laugh drowns out the raw, pained scream Maria was unable to suppress as shocks of high-voltage electricity were fed into the metal pole behind her.

* * *

 _A/N: Aaaand that's me being cruel. I ended the last chapter the way I did and now this? I know some people asked for happiness after the last chapter but a terrible person is what I am. I already have a bit of the next chapter ready so maybe that update will come soon but for now, feel free to hate me. I'm just happy people still read this, find it entertaining at the very least, and are affected by it. Comment/review? Because I live for those (not really, but maybe yes, a little bit)._


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Notes: I can't believe I haven't done this but many thanks to everyone who keeps coming back to read, who gives kudos to this work, and who takes time to comment/review even if I don't always get to reply. Your thoughts — from speculations, to encouragements, to demands/requests for updates, to expressions of strong feelings — mean a lot to me. I only ever hope to share my ideas and entertain you along the way so thank you for letting me know that I do._

* * *

"Brilliant addition to this old building, do you not think?" He asks when he comes back some hours later and gestures to the thick wire, one end wrapped around the metal pole, the other end disappearing through a tiny hole in the wall. "We had it installed as a precautionary measure. How does it feel to be the first to test it?"

He's staring at Maria as if waiting for a response while contemplating the best course of action with regard to her torture and death — and maybe he is — when a loud but muffled bang followed by the faint rat-a-tat of automatics and handguns disturbs the silence. His face is the portrait of fear when he looks back at her.

Her throat is sore and her voice is coarse from having screamed earlier and although she managed to keep from screaming after the initial shock, her lungs are burning and her breathing is labored from being choked and fried again and again. She ignores the sharp sting from the matching wounds — one slightly left of her forehead and another on her left elbow — that she probably got from falling on the pavement much earlier. She can feel beads of sweat pooling on her brow, around the junction where her neck meets her shoulders, and down her back but she doesn't care. She swallows and takes a deep breath, keeping her chin up in defiance.

"You want to know who I work for?" She snarls at him then smirks, pulling her hands away from the shackles she's long since escaped. "You're about to find out." She takes him out with a single punch — what Clint likes to call her killer right hook — and searches his person for any weapons but finds none. Instead, she unwraps the scarf from around his neck and uses it to tie him securely to the metal pole before grabbing a knife from her left boot and exiting the room.

She barely registers the pain radiating from her chafed wrists as she wipes the sweat off her brow and makes her way down the dark corridor, more slowly than usual because the buzzing remnants of the electrocution left her bruised knees a little wobbly. She opens the door to the room next to hers and finds it empty. However, the thin walls between this room and the other adjacent room allows her to hear the loud, possibly hysterical, albeit muffled voices. She leans towards the door and recognizes the timbre of Susanna's voice. She opens the door and is greeted by a wail followed by barely recognizable speech.

"Please don't kill me! Don't kill me! Please!"

And then, "Maria? You're alright! Oh, thank Heavens!" The old woman seems to sag in relief.

"Don't kill me!" The man shouts again, his tear-stained face forced away from her even as he eyes her hand. "Please don't!" The knife, right.

"Stay here and keep your heads down, help is coming." With that, she turns to leave and is met with the barrel of a gun aimed at between her eyes. And just like that, the wailing behind her resumes.

"Thanks," she says. Only seconds after the gunman's face twists in confusion does he lose his hold of the gun and drop down, unconscious from the sharp smack of an elbow to his nose and the butt of his own gun to his temple. She checks the magazine and clips it back in. Before she could even look up, she hears—

"Freeze!" She turns to the voice with her stolen gun raised but relaxes a second later. "Agent Hill? Ma'am, are you—"

"I'm fine, Morris. Have you secured the perimeter?"

"Yes, Ma'am, and right before any of the trucks could leave too. Glad you got to your tracker in time. And that they hadn't bothered with a signal jammer."

She shrugs and slips her knife back inside her boot. "It may have been SSR property but it's been abandoned for years, maybe decades."

"The floor above is secure." The SHIELD agent glances at the man lying unconscious by their feet. "This floor too, I guess." Maria nods when she sees a team of agents finishing their rounds on the floor. "Two teams are combing through the basement as we speak."

"There are two civilians in this room. Eriksen's two doors down." She holsters the gun at her back into the waistband of her pants. "Dead or alive, I want everyone accounted for before clean-up arrives."

"You got it, Lieutenant." She watches the other agent pass her orders along before she makes her way downstairs.

A basement lined with reinforced steel and enveloped by putrid air and deafening silence. Rooms full of stainless steel tables equipped with restraints — some leather straps, others metal chains. Hallways with doors of glass on the left, metal bars on the right. The glass door of the last room provides enough view of its interior, its bloody — dried and drying — interior.

 _"I will fix you next."_

She takes a step back and then another until her back hits the wall behind her. When one of her arms comes in contact with the cool metal bar of the door behind her, she gasps and it's like she's back to being cuffed and electrocuted. It takes her a couple of seconds and a few deep breaths but she composes herself, glad that no one was around to witness her near panic attack, and exits the facility.

"Where are they?" She calmly asks, exuding authority with every word, confidence with every step, even as she feels nothing like it inside. She goes into the tent the other agent pointed at, her eyes carefully flit over every face passing by her, over every occupant of the makeshift beds, looking for someone who shouldn't be that hard to miss amidst all the tall, frail _adults_ walking by.

"Agent Hill?" One of the medics, Sanchez, she remembers, approaches her. "You need to have your injuries looked at—"

"How are they?"

Sanchez gives her a brief concerned yet disapproving look before she launches into explanation. "We're working on flushing all the chemicals out of their systems. They've all been through different types of…modification and are at varying degrees of coherence. We can't give a complete diagnosis with the tools and equipment at hand but so far, nothing that seems fatal despite the infection in some. Except, of course, for the only patient from glass."

Maria raises her brow for elaboration which Sanchez readily gives. "All of the patients you see right now reportedly came from the side of the hall with metal bars for doors. The sole patient kept behind a glass door never made it out alive." The blood. "The report says the bad guys were working on her when our agents came in. She was cut open but alive until one of the men slit her throat as a last act of—"

"A girl?" Not a child, _please_.

The medic flips the chart she's holding onto the last page and shakes her head grimly. "Ripe age of 17."

She feels her fists clench so she takes a deep breath and then another. All of these people will get the justice they deserve. "Have you seen a little girl in here? Six years old, about this tall," she says, holding her hand just below her hips. She sees a glint of recognition in Sanchez' expression so she asks, "Where is she?"

"Right through that curtain. She's with her grandmother."

She stands by the curtain, still and pensive for a moment. _It's never boring, that I can tell you._ She sneers then opens the curtain just enough so she could peek inside and her sneer turns into a soft smile. On the other side, she sees Leila on her grandmother's lap looking confused and close to crying as she holds Susanna's cheeks, wiping her grandmother's tears with her tiny palms.

She lets go of the curtain and turns to look at the rest of the patients. They lost one life today and she'll make sure the count that started over six years ago ends here.

 **\- x -**

"We were close to finding the cure and you ruined it!"

"The cure to what?"

"Well, is it not obvious?" Maria stares blankly at him and just like before, it irks him enough to get him talking. "Humanity, what else? Humanity and its inherent weakness, its mortality! Those people were about to be cured and you took that away from them, from yourself—"

"No, you took away their freedom and ruined their lives. Those people have been saved." Her steel gaze leveled on his. "And no one will ever have to go through that again."

Eriksen giggles _._ The bastard _giggles_. "We'll see."

 **\- x -**

"He may have an IQ of 166 but he's a lunatic. He's too disorganized to have orchestrated all of this by himself. And besides, Camp Lehigh, really? It may have been abandoned for years but it's still a property of the SSR. It's the camp where Captain America trained, for fuck's sake, and there they were, experimenting on humans as if they were goddamn rats."

"What are you suggesting, Hill? That _evildoers_ band together now?"

"I'm _saying_ that can't have been a coincidence."

"You always think everything's bigger than it actually is." His mocking tone is not lost on Maria. "That it's part of some fucking conspiracy." He needs to be put in his place. "And—"

"And so far, she's been right. Every damn time. That's because Agent Hill sees beyond what normal people see; she sees the bigger picture, Rumlow. Your inability to do so is your own fault, not hers."

"But, Sir—"

"You are dismissed." Well, that'll do it. When the door clicks shut, Fury walks toward the two-way mirror, hands behind his back, gaze steady on Eriksen as he stands beside Maria. "We are now in possession of all the accounts documented by one Susanna Sattari. We've also found the box she mentioned in one of her accounts." Maria's brows furrow but she waits for him to explain. "I believe this is yours," he says instead and slides a card over to her.

She looks down and finds her driver's license. Her _fake_ driver's license. "This is—" And then her head snaps up. "That box…" She trails off at Fury's nod. "How many?"

"Two hundred and seventy-six in six years," he hisses. "Not counting the fourteen people you saved, yourself included. About two-thirds are foreign." He straightens his back and shoulders. "I agree that it can't have been a coincidence. But clean-up found nothing."

"What about funding?"

"No paper trail. No wires transfer either. Cash, you already know that."

She does, she's read the file but— "There has to be something, Sir. I don't believe he is capable of such meticulous planning."

Fury turns to look at her. "What aren't you saying, Agent Hill?"

"He slipped. When I was held captive." She turns her head in Eriksen's direction. "It was only once but I remember he said 'we' instead of 'I' when he was bragging about a new addition in the facility."

"What new addition?"

Maria swallows but meets Fury's gaze head on. "Additional electrical capabilities."

Fury studies her for a while before he turns back to Eriksen. "Not long after the team triangulated your location, your signal disappeared; you went off the grid. Am I to assume it was a deliberate action on your part?"

She takes a moment before quietly answering, "No."

"Very well," he speaks after a long, charged silence, then he nods and turns back to her. "Two weeks."

She shakes her head. "Sir—"

"Operations can function without their head for two more weeks, Agent Hill. Two weeks, effective immediately."

"There's still so much work to be done—"

"And throwing yourself into your work after what you've experienced—"

"Will get my mind off of it."

She's extremely perceptive and she's never been one to back down. Fury admires that in her. "You and I both know that isn't healthy."

But he also hates having to deal with it because the corner of her lips curls up in a small smirk. "And yet you and I both know you'd do the same."

Yep, he definitely hates having to deal with it. He huffs on his way to the door but when he opens it, he says firmly, " _One_ week. That's an order."

She wants to argue further but doesn't; Maria Hill is a soldier, a spy, a warrior and she knows how to pick her battles.

 **\- x -**

She never did enjoy vacation days. In fact, she hated them.

Which is why on the third day of her supposed vacation, she's back in Wheaton, to see if the clean-up crew missed anything and to get into Eriksen's (or whoever else is working with him) mindset about the logistics.

On her way there, she passes by the place that was as much a home to her in the past months as the one SHIELD provided for her cover. She parked her car, a nondescript gray sedan this time, in the slot farthest from what was (is?) Steve's room. Suddenly, the door— _that_ door opens. And she exhales the breath she didn't know she was holding upon seeing two children — a girl of around 7 and boy of around 3 — exit the room followed by two women holding hands.

 _It's been five days, Maria._ She internally scolds herself. _Of course, he's gone._

She arrives at Camp Lehigh and nods at the guards — SHIELD agents disguised as security guards. She walks around the facility with her hand constantly brushing her sidearm, painstakingly examining what each floor has to offer until she gets to the basement. It's been cleaned so it's not as bad as it was the last time she was here but she still has to steel herself with every door, every room, every _cell_ she investigates.

She reaches the other side of the basement and sees walls and walls of empty shelves and the wall of photos with Carter, Stark, and Philips. This is where SHIELD started. She takes a moment longer in front of Peggy Carter's portrait. She remembers her with Phil back in Madripoor. She was old yet no less beautiful and kind; gentle and graceful yet no less powerful — a force to be reckoned with.

For a brief moment, she wishes she could've met the Peggy Carter in that photo before she realizes she's being silly and shakes her head. She closes her eyes, takes a minute to just breathe, and that's when she hears it.

A draft?

She follows the faint sound of the air current. And it is, indeed, a draft. Underground? She pulls on the shelf. Well, she tries to, and it gets dislodged by a few inches. She tries again but it won't budge. It's enough, however, for her to see the light on the other side as well as a keypad and the beginnings of a door.

She takes a few steps back and whips two things out: her sidearm and her phone.

"Sir, there's something you need to see."

* * *

 _A/N: Yay, update! I don't know when the next one's coming because school (aka my beloved hell) starts in a little over a week from now but I hope this is enough to tide you over, so to speak. As usual, comments/reviews are encouraged._


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Notes: So this took a while... My first week back in school went okay, I guess, so I'm sneaking this update between school work before the coming week because my actual day job's gonna be a bitch by then._

 _It's getting closer to a much-awaited scene and I'm excited for you guys to read this and what's coming next (whenever I get around to finishing that one). Also, more characters, YAY!_

* * *

Nothing.

That's what they find when they finally manage to pry open the sliding shelf and the door which turned out to be an elevator.

Sure, they find the computers — the extremely outdated computers, obsolete, really — and the sole modern piece of technology in the USB port is suspicious but even SHIELD's best couldn't get through to the system. Not without the _right_ flash drive. Suspicious, indeed.

Eriksen swears he knew nothing about that part of the facility and promptly shut up about any possible accomplices. That part of the case was then declared officially unresolved and fridged until further notice. However, Fury doubled the security detail and had cameras covertly installed inside and around the vicinity of the facility because someone has been there recently and will likely come back.

Fury complimented her for a job well done before proceeding to berate her for going against a direct order. "You have five more days. Don't make me extend it!"

But now she's back, five grueling days after, and is walking along the Triskelion with Fury matching her step.

"Meet anyone interesting, Agent Hill?"

"Apart from Eriksen? No one suspicious, Sir."

"I didn't ask about anyone suspicious."

She narrows her eyes before one of her brows rise. "No one out of the ordinary."

He nods, watches her for a while as they walk before finally saying, "You did good work."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I told you Operations could function without their head. But not for long, so I expect a list of your recommendations for the position by the end of the day."

"What?"

He stops outside a door then with a small, proud smile, says, "Congratulations, Deputy." He sees the slight widening of her eyes when her head almost snaps to look at him. He confirms by gesturing towards the biometrics.

When the door slides open quietly, they are greeted by the sight of a uniformed backside. Her hand swiftly brushes her sidearm before she hears a familiar giggle. "Barton?"

He snaps up so quickly it would've been comical. Actually, it _is_ comical, especially coupled with the panicked expression he has on his face. When he turns to his right, she and Fury enter the office and follow his gaze to the one and only Black Widow who's sporting a small smile on her face and a newly-opened bottle of her favorite vodka in one hand which she then pours out into four glasses.

"How many times do I have to remind you that drinking on the job is against the rules?"

"Try it a few more times, it might work eventually," Clint answers as he takes two glasses and hands them over to Maria and Nick.

Maria scoffs. "On your stubborn ass?"

Natasha simply shrugs. "It's a celebration."

"Yep. You are now officially our boss."

"Technically, I've been your boss for nearly six years now, Clint."

"Coulson wishes he were here but he's still out dealing with the 084 in New Mexico." Nick informs her as he sits on one of the sofas.

"I was wondering why you weren't saying anything about this; apparently, you sanctioned it."

He shrugs. "Like Romanoff said, it's a celebration; it's not everyday someone becomes Deputy Director."

"To Deputy Director Maria Hill!" Clint raises his glass and the other three follow before downing their shots. "Oh, by the way," he pauses and makes his way back to where they found him. He bends over her desk and reaches for something on her chair. That 'something' turns out to be a blue travel crate. "A gift from Phil." When a tiny meow is heard, Clint giggles.

"He's been giggling for the past hour. Every time the kitten meows." Natasha rolls her eyes but her amusement is evident in the curve of her mouth.

When Clint opens the door of the carrier, Maria's eyes are drawn towards the shiny star on the red collar of a golden blonde furball — about as golden blonde as kittens can be. "Phil said if Captain America were a cat, he'd look like this. He's been so excited about Captain America being unearthed."

"Defrosted," Natasha corrects.

"Right. I just got notified of that a little over a week ago."

"He's been a walking undead since you went under." Clint coos into the kitten.

"He disappeared for nearly three months—"

"Disappeared?" She smirks and raises an eyebrow. There is no way SHIELD didn't have him followed or track him down somehow.

Fury gives her a pointed look and continues, "Got back two days ago. You'll be meeting him at the briefing this afternoon."

"Yes, Sir."

Clint then carries the kitten closer to a now-frowning Maria so she could take a closer look. "Got the blue eyes too."

Upon seeing the kitten's eyes, wide and bright and incredibly blue as they stare back up at her, Maria softens and her shoulders sag almost imperceptibly as she reaches over to cradle the kitten in her own arms. She gently scratches behind the kitten's ear until it purrs.

"Well, I'll be damned." Natasha mutters. If she's ever seen love at first sight, this is probably it.

"So, are you keeping Cap?"

"Milkshake." Clint and Natasha exchange looks.

"What?"

"His name, it's Milkshake."

 _"Didn't realize you were sentimental."_ Joke's on you, Maria, she thinks to herself.

Nick shakes his head. "Phil Coulson, you goddamn son of a bitch." When the other three turn to him, he says, "When I made Director, I wanted to shoot him for giving me more responsibilities than I already had." He smiles, "Socks."

"Socks?" Clint asks.

"He's a black Snowshoe cat, all black with a white patch on his chest. And all his tiny feet are white. Even looks grumpy at times but he's something else." When the kitten — Milkshake — meows again, he clears his throat and looks all business again. "Enjoy your morning, Deputy. See you for the briefing this afternoon."

 **\- x -**

Steve is on his bike, onto the final leg of his le tour de self-discovery when it strikes him suddenly that he never got to visit his old campsite back in New Jersey. But he's so close to D.C.; it'll be a hassle to go back now. And besides, there are some things, memories, he so desperately wants to forget yet holds onto and longs for every night before he falls asleep.

He thinks he gets glimpses of her every now and then. But that just doesn't make any sense, does it? She can't possibly be wherever he goes. They can't possibly have the same destination. And she can't—She can't be following him, can she? Maybe—No.

They both knew that day was coming, he just didn't think it would be this soon. He just wasn't ready. But it's been over a week now. No point in dwelling. Or in deluding himself that her leaving had something to do with him. Not everything was about him or revolved around him, certainly not her decisions, her life. And he'll just have to accept that.

She's gone. He has to move on. He has to live, if for nothing else, then out of sheer will. He was thrust into a new world. Everything he knew, everyone he loved, his whole world was taken away from him by the ice, by time.

Those first few days, weeks… The days when he looked at everything but saw nothing, _felt_ nothing… The mornings when he felt like he didn't want to get out of bed, like he _couldn't_ … The nights when he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering how he was alive, _why_ … The training sessions where he pictured himself in missions too risky and too dangerous, where he pictured himself going up against technology so advanced that even the serum couldn't keep up, where he pictured himself giving his life once more in service but this time permanently… Those are behind him now. Have been for the past few months. Have been since…

Maria. Who he could never get a good read on. Who could be one thing in one moment and then another in the next. Who gives and gives and then pulls away suddenly. Who is always so mature, always a step ahead, but also always with one foot out the door. Who, despite that, made him experience good things, see the light again, and feel alive. She reminded him that there is so much more to look forward to. And even now that he's hurt, he's reminded of something he's always known but must've forgotten: He's alive.

He's alive and he can move on. He has to. He _knows_ he has to. But sometimes his mind plays tricks on him.

At the last gasoline station he stopped at, he could've sworn he saw her. Her back was to him, her boots and jeans fit snugly to accentuate her long legs, her hair was cascading down her back…

She turns her head to the woman approaching her and—No. Her smile is a little too crooked, her lips are a little too plump, her eyes are a little too blue, her nose is not quite right, and, come to think of it, her hair is a little too long and just the wrong shade of brown. And oh— _Oh._ He blushes because, well, she isn't straight and she definitely isn't shy about going at it in public. That's…that's cool. He just can't help feeling disappointed because—

It's not her.

And he think it's silly; a woman he's had two months of passion with should not have the same effect on him as a woman he's had two years of friendship with.

So he mounts his bike and drives away. Because what more can he do? Fury offered to take him in. SHIELD would be good for him. He's lost his purpose so he'll find a new one. And if he still thinks of her every now and then, well, he may be a little super but he's human.

When he arrives at the Triskelion, he's greeted much the same way he was a few months earlier — either with wide eyes that follow him as he passes by, or professionally albeit with a bit more warmth than necessary, or with blatantly ogling and nearly swooning agents of varying sexual orientations and gender identities.

Fury meets him by the elevator, his presence promptly commanding respect and a bit of fear. He's told he's about to meet the new Deputy Director, someone he'll be working with apart from Coulson. "Is he anything like you?"

Fury just gives him a sideways glance that makes him look amused albeit a little condescending. "No."

He slowly nods. "That's…" He's still nodding. Because he isn't sure if that's a good or a bad thing. "Something."

Fury then looks forward and puts his hands behind his back. "For one thing, Deputy Director _Maria_ Hill wouldn't appreciate it if you had a problem with taking orders from a woman."

"Oh… _Oh._ " His eyes almost comically widen upon realizing that he had assumed it was a man. "Not—No, not at all." He gets a raised eyebrow in response and nothing else. He tests it out in his head, Deputy Director Maria—

Oh, God. That name is haunting him.

 **\- x -**

It's been a big day for her so far. Coming back to work, making the youngest deputy so far (and fuck yes is she proud), getting a cat…

"What am I going to do with you?" She mutters under her breath as she gently strokes Milkshake's soft fur. The kitten that's currently lounging on her desk — on top of her already piling paperwork, to be exact.

She's meeting Captain America in a few minutes. Captain freakin' America. She's never been such a huge fan but she acknowledges him and admires what he and the Commandos have done for their troops, for their country. But Phil—God, she would've paid good money to see Phil's reaction that first time.

"Don't worry," comes Clint Barton's voice from the couch, feigned exasperation not fooling anyone, much less her. "I'll watch your precious Milkshake."

"Right, of course." She nods and stands up, scratching behind the kitten's ear and making him purr in the process. "I better go," she finally says and receives a lazy thumbs-up in response. Her door barely closes before she hears a faint meow followed by Clint's giggle and it helps her relax a bit.

She makes her way down the halls and rolls her shoulders. She's just meeting a national icon, someone who's lived through the Prohibition and fought against the Nazis in World War II. No big deal, right? For nearly seven decades, everyone thought he was long gone. Now he's been up and about for nearly half a year and he's here, standing beside Nick Fury, looking out into the waters and over the Washington skyline in jeans and a leather jacket.

She thinks it's weird that her first thought was how his leather jacket looks familiar but then he turns and—

Oh, fuck.

"Captain, this is Deputy Director Maria Hill. Maria Hill, this is Captain America himself, Steve Rogers."

* * *

 _A/N: Clint watches kitten Milkshake while Maria faces human Milkshake… Fun times. Once again, thank you all for your patience._

 _Thoughts?_


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Notes: YAY UPDATE! These will likely come monthly from now on. I'm really enjoying being a student again but it also means sacrificing time for leisure writing between school and work. I plan on finishing this; it'll just take time. I swear I'm not trying to torture anyone. Just know that I appreciate everyone who's read this work so far, especially those who still follow it. Thank you so much xox_

* * *

" _Captain, this is Deputy Director Maria Hill. Maria Hill, this is Captain America himself, Steve Rogers."_

Fucking hell. Fuck the powers that be. Fuck to infinity and bey—

"Agent Hill?" Fury prods.

She shakes her head subtly, surprise visible only in her eyes and even then, only to those who know the subtleties in Maria Hill's reactions. "Just momentarily dumbstruck, Sir." Because she is. And it's better to pretend she's having a fangirl moment than to admit the truth. "Captain Rogers, it's a pleasure to meet you." She extends her hand and clears her throat, hoping he'd take the hint and follow her lead.

He takes a moment. She's acting like this is the first time they're meeting but it's not; he saw that flicker of recognition in her eyes right before her entire expression changed, almost like some sort of mask fell into place. Should he follow her lead? He should, right? Because if there's any place to air one's dirty laundry with the Deputy Director, it's definitely not in front of the Director. Right?

She's about to retract her extended hand when he all but launches into her space, taking her hand in his and shaking it enthusiastically. "Yes, hi, M… Uh, hello, Deputy Director Hill. And no, the pleasure is mine." He's still shaking her hand and Fury's looking at him oddly with—Is that amusement? "Fury said you were nothing like him. I'm glad." He receives matching raised eyebrows from both Hill and Fury, a response that makes him remember himself so he stops the handshake, hastily adding, "No offense."

 _Thank you._ "May I have my hand back, Captain?"

 _Not yet, please?_ "Oh." But he knows he has to so he relinquishes his hold on her hand. "I apologize, when I was told of the meeting with the new Deputy, I wasn't expecting to meet, well, you."

"Do you have a problem with my being female?"

"Not about that, no." He gives her a look that he hopes sends the message that no, he has no problem with a female boss, just with the circumstances surrounding that revelation. He also hopes he conveys how that particular conversation is far from over. And with an almost curt nod, he addresses her, "Ma'am."

She bites back the cringe — at the look, at the title, at the tone. "Lieutenant or Agent Hill will do."

"Lieutenant?"

"Marines," she says, raising her chin, proud and somehow defiant as she casually gestures to their surroundings. "Now world security."

Security, yes, she _had_ mentioned that. "Deputy Director too, that's…" He shakes his head in awe, unsure of what to say exactly. "Congratulations. That's amazing."

She's used to people seeing only one and not the other — she's either just a woman, more accurately a piece of meat to lecherous bastards, or just a soldier/spy — especially during first meetings. And as far as first meetings go, this is…late. A little too late, in fact. And his sincere and easy acceptance of her position — one that is above his at that — if not their situation baffles her despite her blank exterior.

Fury feels that this back and forth has gone on long enough, too long as far as his eye is concerned. "Well, now that you've both been," he pauses shortly and looks from one to the other. "Acquainted," he waits for the pairs of eyes to settle on him before he turns. "We can get to the matter at hand."

He walks away with his usual ominous aura, without another word or another glance, as if he were expecting them to follow just because. Maria, who is used to his ways, follows him and not long after, finds herself matching strides with Ste— _Captain America._

"Captain Rogers has agreed to work on SHIELD operations, a select few that," he pauses as enters his office. " _Require_ his particular skillset." His emphasis is not lost on Maria. "And as head— _former_ head of operations, I trust that you can handle further acclimatization and operations?"

 _What?_ Maria blinks. "Acclima—Training, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Didn't I already undergo training?"

" _Basic_ training, yes. And while you are a supersoldier, you are not a spy. First of all, you won't be going on missions in red, white, and blue; stealth is key. And more importantly, you won't be going in with your shield." The way he softens even minutely at Steve's surprised expression does not go unnoticed by Maria. "You asked to not be Captain America just yet." It's her turn to be surprised as she turns to Steve. She wants to ask why but if neither of them are forthcoming, then it's not a matter that needs to be discussed at the moment. "Have you changed your mind?"

It takes him a few seconds to answer, "No."

"Then it's settled." He pulls his chair away from his desk and adds, "If you change your mind, Captain, your uniform and shield are ready."

"Sir?"

"Agent Hill?" He turns to her as he takes his seat and gestures for them to do the same. Maria, back ramrod straight, takes her seat and Fury almost looks as if he knows what's about to come out of her mouth.

"I think it would be better for Captain Rogers to have Coulson as his handler."

"Are you saying Coulson's better than you?"

She bites back a smirk but her lips curl up at one corner anyway. "I'm saying he's a better _fit_ for Captain Rogers." Fury tilts his head, waiting for her to elaborate. And she does so while ignoring the burning gaze she can feel from her side. "I haven't played handler in a while; he handles two of our best. The Captain would benefit from an experience with either of them, more so with both of them."

Fury stares at her, glances at Steve, then looks back at her. "You make a valid point. When Romanoff gets back, let her know. Barton is off so use him however you want to."

"And Coulson?" She asks despite having an inkling of his answer after he deliberately didn't address the matter.

"I need someone who wouldn't swoon if the Captain so much as opens his mouth or flexes his muscles."

And she's stuck. "Damn it, Coulson," she mutters, intending for it to be heard by no one else but Steve's enhanced hearing has him looking at her funny.

"You were really looking to pawn me off to someone else?" Steve asks once they've been dismissed.

"Coulson is more than capable as a handler, a better fit for you."

"Is this about you and me?"

Maria whirls around and very nearly collides with him. And when she speaks, it's just at a few inches' distance and it's quiet but nonetheless sharp. "We are at work, Captain. Here, we talk about nothing but work. Do you understand?"

He nods. "And outside?"

"There is no outside." She turns again and resumes walking. "This job has an extreme definition of 'full-time'. You can have the rest of the day off but I expect you at the floor come sunrise. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Good day, Captain."

Steve blinks. As far as dismissals go, a door to the face is not so bad. Not if there's a chance it'll open again.

 **\- x -**

The first week was spent going over all the basics, every day at sunrise and every night after the sun sets as long as Maria's schedule allows it. Most of the time, it doesn't but he trains anyway. The morning of the second week, they employ Clint's assistance in various long-range weaponry and skills, knife-throwing included but they start with darts.

"Barton, you're up." Maria says but receives no response, not even an acknowledgement, from the man currently lounging on a chair with his legs propped up on a table. She rolls her eyes, picks up a dart, and throws it at Clint's head, prompting Steve's—

"Hey! Why would you—" He stops upon seeing a grinning Clint effortlessly catch the dart in his fingers.

"Nice throw, Hill," he shouts on his way over. At Maria and Steve's matching winces, he touches something by his ear. "Sorry."

"Hawkeye, Captain America. Captain America, Hawkeye." Maria says in a rather short introduction before she promptly leaves for a conference call.

"Clint Barton," he offers his hand which Steve shakes.

"Steve Rogers."

He nods. "Cap. So, let's see how you are at this old thing." Steve does a good job at closer distances and a less than decent job at farther ones. "Not so bad. But we're gonna need to improve that if we're moving to knives."

They go at it for about an hour until Steve can hit what Clint asks him to almost precisely. "You're a quick learner. You'll need more practice but this progress is amazing." He then asks Steve if he wants to practice with his left. "I'm ambidextrous so, you know, if you want." So they do, and Steve finds he is absolutely not ambidextrous unless it's with his shield but at least he's hitting the dartboard.

When Maria returns hours later, she overhears a part of their conversation where Clint says the best student he's ever had was Maria. Maria would argue that it was a toss-up between her and Natasha before she remembers that Natasha learned and developed her skills before SHIELD. And in an impulse to impress — one that a student would want for a teacher, she tells herself — she pulls a knife from her boot and flings it to the board from her place by the door.

Bull's eye.

Of course. But not before it passes between Steve and Clint's heads, dangerously close to Steve's ear, if the slight current of air he felt was any indication. They turn and find her smirking.

"Show-off," Clint says, but there's a smile on his face and in his voice. He looks proud, if Steve's reading him right. And if only his heart wasn't beating wildly from near-fatal surprise — awe and admiration too, if he's being honest and he's _always_ honest — he would've mirrored it.

"That's enough for today. Pick it up in the morning."

 **\- x -**

They were approaching their third hour of extended training one morning, extended because Maria has a string of conference calls this whole evening.

"Do it again." She's reading over documents that need her signature but she noticed from the corner of her eye that a red light blinked, signaling that Steve has failed the test and has been 'exposed' and caught.

"You weren't even looking," he says, slight frustration bleeding into his tone. Three hours of training with a drill sergeant can do that to a person.

Still not looking up at him, she responds, "Multitasking is a thing, Captain."

"Why are you doing this?"

This time, she puts her pen down slowly and looks directly at him. "This isn't about you, Captain. Every recruit goes through rigorous training, this included. Those who graduated from the Academy are not an exception and neither are you. _I_ used to train them. Sure, they usually take much longer than you have so far but none of them had the privilege of being enhanced." She can see his clenched jaw even from a couple of feet away and she's taking a moment to decide whether to continue pushing buttons or not. She sighs, "I wasn't looking because I designed this entire training course; I know it like the back of my hand. You want to be in the field, don't you?" He nods, his expression still very serious. "When you want something, you work hard for it." He huffs because the double meaning, whether she deliberately put it out there or not, was not lost on him. She mistakes his huff for exasperation so she continues, "You can always give up."

"No." Immediate, firm, no room for argument.

"Alright then." She raises an eyebrow. " _Again_." Paperwork forgotten, she's watching him go through the motions when a voice suddenly speaks up from the doorway.

"That was a little harsh."

She doesn't jump because she's been aware of her presence the moment she was graced with it. Besides, Natasha's done that too many times to surprise her by now. "He needs to learn. You have him next week."

Natasha hums. "How long have you been at it?"

"Four weeks, two days."

Natasha turns to her with a raised eyebrow, impressed, because this part of the training for the new recruits usually comes after a year. "He's good."

She wants to argue that he's a goddamn supersoldier; he should be. But that's something Natasha rarely thinks, much less says. So she silently counts to ten before she says, "Alright, take five."

He's noticed the redheaded woman the moment she entered but he paid her no mind. If she got Maria to give him a break, then she must be something. "I can still—"

"Take five, soldier."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Natasha hasn't stopped staring at her and it irks her. "Out with it, Nat."

"I heard about Wheaton."

Maria forces her breathing to stay steady. "What about it?"

"Eriksen," she merely says as if it explains everything. "You're okay." It wasn't a question but it may as well have been one.

"We don't do that, Nat."

"No. Clint does that, for the both of us. But he doesn't know what happened."

"And how do _you_ know?" She knows how Natasha got her information; she _is_ among the best at a lot of things, hacking included.

"You know how I know. And Fury told us to look out for you, the same way you do for me, and Clint, and Phil, and Nick, and Rogers, and SHIELD, and everyone else. Maybe you came back a little haunted, that's normal. But you're taking it out on Rogers and that's not something you do. So I need to know."

Maria looks away and finds herself following Steve as he once again goes through the exercise. When he actually finishes it and does so well, he turns to her with a wide, bright smile. She almost, _almost_ smiles back but she nods instead before she turns to Natasha.

"I'm okay, Nat." This time, she actually smiles, small but a smile nonetheless. Natasha's eyes narrow slightly as she glances at Steve before she nods and turns to leave. "Tell Clint?"

Natasha's brows furrow as she smiles back, letting Maria know she's being ridiculous because— "Of course."

When she turns back to a giddy-looking Steve, she gives him another nod and a small smile that has him beaming. She tells him to do it again and again. But there are no more huffs or complaints this time, just a slight frown and a sheen of sweat, concentration and determination evident in his expression. But needless to say, he does it flawlessly every time.

At hour four, when he's gone through a few variations of the exercise, she convinces herself that the pride she feels now is the same feeling she gets when a recruit finishes this course. She almost succeeds.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm thinking about adding the rest of the Avengers but we'll see how that plays out. What do you think?_

 _Random: Why must development (character, plot, HUMAN) take so long?_


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Notes: A storm is coming (in my life) so I better get this out before it comes. I apologize for taking so long and I hope this at least keeps you interested._

* * *

"I see you're back to the land of the living."

She doesn't need to look to recognize the owner of that all-too-familiar voice coming from the open door of her office. She couldn't have imagined a better end to her day than this. A smile automatically spreads on her face but she schools her features when she turns around. "I see you're back from exile."

They have a staring match until his face crumbles and she rolls her eyes as he launches into her space to wrap her in a tight hug, burying his face into her hair as she buries hers in his chest. "I missed you, Ria."

She hums. "You too, Sully."

"I'm glad you're alright. I heard—"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it when I can." _Not here._ She pulls away but keeps her arms around him. "How's Javier?"

"My Javi is wonderful, took to fatherhood like a champ. He's perfect. He's been asking when you were due back." He gives her a pointed look.

"Of course. It's been a while since I last saw him. And Gabby?" Because of course she'd ask after the woman who'd just given birth.

"She sent us a fruit basket and some toys because she appreciated how much Javi and I made sure she was comfortable throughout the pregnancy. We let her say goodbye a month ago and she was grateful. We really couldn't have asked for a better surrogate."

Maria smiles. "And baby Maria?" When she only gets a sheepish smile in response, she asks, "Or is it Mario?"

He grins. "Maria and Marionne."

"Twins?" He nods enthusiastically but stops and purses his lips when the next words out of her mouth were, "Must be quite the handful." But then again, he'd be lying if he said her words surprised him. And she's not wrong.

"Worse than any all-nighter SHIELD could pull off. But we love it." His tone is reminiscent of a lovesick teenager's and Maria pulls away from his embrace to look him up and down, this huge bulk of a man who's nearly an entire foot taller than she is. "So now you're a godmother to not only one but both of them."

She nods as she remembers back when they were SHIELD rookies always trying to one-up each other. Robert Sullivan was formerly a part of SEAL Team Six and had seven years on her but she didn't let that or anything else intimidate her. He'd always indulged her penchant for competition and always accepted defeat like a sport even if they both know he hates losing unless it's against her. He's never given a game or a battle to her; he never needed to. But he'd do just about anything for her. She was the only reason he's alive now and fully-functional after that explosion in Madripoor. She'd hauled his ass and cared for his burns until help had arrived in the form of SHIELD and eventually recruited them both. She returned him to Javier in one piece and for that, he and his partner have adopted her into their family like a sister.

"Carpool to our house? Or do you have to stay, Madame Deputy?"

Maria rolls her eyes and gives him a fond smile when he wiggles his eyebrows. She's about to answer in the affirmative when she hears a throat clearing from the still open doorway. They both turn and see Captain America in full gear but with his cowl hanging loose by his neck. His gaze shifts from her to Sully and he lingers there, seemingly sizing up the other guy, before he turns back to Maria. "Fury needs us."

Maria turns to Sully to apologize but he beats her to it, "I guess it's the latter."

"Rain check?"

He lays his hand on her forearm and Steve follows it vigilantly, eyes narrowing when he sees the subtle squeeze. "Yeah, of course. It's the job. You can meet the girls some other time." Sully makes his way to the door with Maria hot on his heels but he pauses and extends his hand to Steve. "Captain Rogers, Robert Sullivan. It's an honor to meet you, Sir."

Steve nearly grunts in response but he manages to hold it in and be polite with a handshake. Barely. And he notices Maria's frown at how tight his smile seems to be. He doesn't really mean it when he says, "I wish we could stay and chat but—"

"Duty calls. Yeah, no, I know." He admits to not being the smartest person in the room but he can recognize a bit of hostility, especially when directed at him. "Be safe out there, you two." He turns to Maria but observes the captain from the corner of his eye. "Don't miss me too much, Ria." And if looks could kill, he'd be dead with the matching glares he's receiving; Maria's less vicious than the captain's.

Maria hums. "I'll call you. After."

Sully shakes his head to keep his lopsided smile from turning into a full-blown smirk. "Surprise me," he winks then disappears through the door.

Maria tilts her head and narrows her eyes at Sully's retreating form before returning to her desk to retrieve her tablet. Steve takes a deep breath to keep from huffing and says, "If you don't mind, _Madame Deputy_."

Maria raises an eyebrow at his tone but ignores it otherwise. She taps her earpiece and says, "On our way, Sir."

 **\- x -**

"The place is going to blow up in under a minute, Captain. Forget the intel."

"I can't just leave him here, Lieutenant!" He shouts into his comms as he uses his shield to break the hinges off of the cage.

"He set the bomb off then locked himself up, Captain. He clearly doesn't care if he lives."

"He just doesn't want anyone getting ahold of the intel." He secures the man's wrists and lifts him in a fireman's carry. "He's more valuable to you alive."

 _So are you_. What? "Getting yourself blown up into pieces with him is a lose-lose situation."

He makes a run for the stairs. "There's a chance we're gonna make it."

"Twenty-eight seconds. Get out of there, Rogers; that's an order!"

"I saw a window on the floor above this. If I can get there in time—"

"Not while carrying him; you're injured!" Her voice stays even despite the rising pitch. "Fifteen seconds!"

"I can see it! We can make it!"

"Ten, Rogers!" A few seconds pass before the sound of glass shattering filters from the other line. "Rogers?"

Steve twists his body so he could absorb the brunt of the fall as he hears her, "Damn it, Rogers!" But before they impact the ground, the building explodes from the inside and blasts them a few meters further, straight into the dam. His back-up team immediately surrounds the dam and get both him and the scientist out of the water once they've reached the sides. He turns his head and watches the flames swallow up the building. He didn't die, he thinks to himself as the medics fuss over him. But, well, there's still debrief.

 **\- x -**

He expected her to berate him incessantly throughout the debrief but when he arrives with injuries patched up neatly, she's calm as she listens to him and adds her two cents about what went wrong on the mission.

"What did you get from him?"

"The scientist? He's dead."

"Dead?"

"Cyanide pill," Fury supplies.

"Cyanide—" He blinks. "Hydra?"

Maria supposes that would be a sound assumption but, "A lot of agencies have been known to use this emergency counter-intelligence measure since World War II, Captain."

"Unfortunately, without that intel, there isn't enough evidence supporting that theory." Fury explains then slides his gaze to Maria but she keeps her gaze steady on the holographic screens in front of them because she knows what's coming. "Or the one that connects him and his operation to the one in Wheaton."

Steve's head whips into both their directions, gaze set on Maria. "Wheaton?"

"New Jersey." He looks at Maria once again then shrugs. "Agent Hill went undercover months ago to investigate an international human trafficking and experimentation ring. She apprehended the son of a bitch who led it but we have reason to believe he was being backed by someone else. This was the only possible link but we're back to square one." He shakes his head on his way to the door. "It can wait till the morning." He opens the door and pauses because he's met with the sunlight shining high and bright through the glass walls. "Just get some sleep."

When the door clicks shut after Fury, Maria starts gathering her things in a silent dismissal but Steve is having none of it. "This was the only possible link and you were willing to let it go?"

She maintains her calm demeanor. "Like I said, Captain, nobody wins if you get blown up along with him. And let me just remind you that you almost did get blown up and it would've been for nothing." He opens his mouth to protest but before he gets a word in, she follows up with a warning, "The next time you unreasonably ignore my direct orders—"

"Saving a life is reasonable."

"Not at the risk of your own. You can't save any lives if you're dead, Captain, and you're not dying on my watch." He doesn't promise not to do it again and she doesn't expect him to; somehow they both know a promise like that would eventually be broken regardless of intention. "The next time you do that, I will have you transferred." Not that she actually believes that would mean anything to him.

But oh, if she only knew.

After the debrief, Steve follows her home. The one time she actually opted to go back to her apartment. And when he turns the corner she literally just turned, he loses her. He sighs and looks down in a mix of frustration and something else he's not sure of. He turns around to go back the way he came from and nearly yelps because she's suddenly right in front of him, leaning against the brick wall.

"Why are you following me?"

"I want to talk to you." She doesn't respond; she just waits for him to continue. "I've given you time and space because we were at work." He pauses, unsure how to continue. "You said there was no 'outside'. But we're outside now and I want to talk."

She crosses her arms. "Well, talk." She watches him look around as if he were self-conscious; there weren't that many people out this early on a Sunday morning but it's still not what one would call private. "If it's not anything that can be said out here in public, then I'm afraid I've got no time for that, Captain." She pushes off the wall to walk past him but he stops her. She feels the goosebumps forming along her left arm where it brushes his chest and she's never been so grateful for the jacket she's wearing. However, the gentle yet firm grip he has on her bicep is no match for the words he utters under his breath.

"I want you." She shivers when he turns his head into her hair and breathes her name into her ear. " _Maria_."

"Don't—"

"Look at me, Maria." She swallows and forces a neutral expression on her features, not cold but bordering indifferent. "I want you."

"No, you don't."

"I do. You can't tell me what I want, Maria. It doesn't work that way."

"Fine. You want to talk? Then let me tell you something. What we had—what you _think_ we had? Was nothing." He lets go of her arm so quickly, as if he were burnt. "I needed a good lay and you were more than willing." The hurt look he sends her is unmistakable as he takes a step back. "That's how the world works now, Captain. So listen to what _I_ want…" She looks him in the eyes, unblinkingly. "I want you to leave me alone."

She really doesn't. Because facing him now, remembering how he could have died today, makes her feel things she doesn't want to feel. But this is the first time something major happened and she needs to sort things out and deal with the repercussions of those months together to their time now. Maybe she wants to touch him, pull him closer, make sure he's alright. Maybe she wants him just as much. But she can't, so she keeps her hands to herself.

 _When you want something, you work hard for it._

He tried. But hearing her say that hurts. Probably more than she realizes. Definitely more than he was ready for.

Watch out for the recoil, they say.

* * *

 _A/N: I always enjoy reading about your thoughts so feel free to leave them right here. Till the next update x_


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Notes: I'm taking my time with this one because I don't want to half-ass it with everything else on my plate but I'm glad there are some of you who still follow it. So thank you for your continuing support for this story and for Captain Hill. Hope you enjoy this update!_

* * *

A few months pass and Fury's already had each candidate for the Avengers Initiative assessed individually. He's called them into the Triskelion to observe possible team dynamics after a rather tense first meeting. Barton and Romanoff have been waiting at the lounge until Stark arrived with Banner, his "science bro". Rogers is on his way over while Thor is running a little late because of explicit orders not to 'fly in' the Asgardian way, so to speak, after the damage he'd left the last time.

"Clint, get down from the vents. You might spook Dr. Banner."

Having read the others' files, Bruce knows that Hawkeye may be an excellent agent and a renowned marksman but he's practically a fluffy goofball off the job. "I'm not really that fragile—"

"Hell, he's scaring me. What's he doing there anyway?" Tony asks in a loud whisper.

A slow, cat-like smile spreads on Natasha's face before she looks at Clint. "You know what? You can stay up there as long as you want." She deliberately ignores Tony's glare as she turns to Bruce and mouths, "He's safe."

"Don't worry, Brucie-bear, Pepper loves us. Well, me mostly." He smiles as he settles on the couch. "But she's fond of you. She'll notice if we go missing." He's still smiling even as he eyes the twin assassins.

"Oh, no one would find your bodies if either of us are responsible. Much less both." Tony gulps audibly as Natasha makes her way to him. "But I'm fond of you too, Tony."

Since her stint at Stark Industries, Natasha ex-KGB - one of SHIELD's top spies - potentially an Avenger Romanoff has developed a soft spot for the billionaire. After his palladium poisoning, she's even gone so far as to routinely check up on the guy, unbeknownst to him, of course, when she's off-duty. It doesn't hurt that she's made friends with his CEO Pepper Potts after a long-drawn-out conversation about personal boundaries and keeping Tony Stark safe and sane. And she's learned that Pepper's unwavering loyalty and affection toward the genius is not unfounded.

He tenses when she stretches on the back and arm of the couch because they hadn't had the warmest interactions in the past. But as soon as she starts carding her fingers through his hair, he practically melts.

Bruce looks on in amusement as Tony very nearly purrs. Clint eventually drops down from the vents. He announces rather loudly that he's looking for Milkshake just as Steve enters the lounge, prompting the latter to stop in his tracks.

"There's milkshake?"

"Yeah, no. I meant Maria's—" A tiny meow interrupts him just as Steve nearly jumps from his skin when he feels soft fur rub against his bare ankles. "Cat."

Steve picks the cat up, cradles him in one arm, and starts a staring match with him that ends when the kitten trills. "Huh," he lets out quietly, almost dazed as he bops Milkshake on the nose and lets his fingers get licked and nibbled on.

Clint walks towards Natasha and whispers, "It's like deja vu." Natasha just tilts her head and hums, remembering the last time she saw the kitten get adored this way.

A muffled voice filters into the room even before the doors open. "Barton, give me my cat back. If you're spoiling him again—" She gets two steps into the lounge before she stops as all five pairs of eyes turn to her. However, her attention is caught by her kitten nibbling on Captain America's fingers. Her eye twitches as she considers hightailing it out of there but Thor picks that moment to make his entrance, effectively blocking her immediate exit.

"My friends! Have you gathered to welcome me and the Son of Coul?" The grin on his face doesn't dim even despite the slight tension in the room.

Phil enters from behind Thor but nobody notices him. He spots Captain and Kitty America and just _has_ to snap a photo of both — candid but perfect — and send it to Maria. He notices the tension only when he's managed to slide his phone back in his pocket. He clears his throat, "Seeing as everyone's here, it's as good a time as any to announce that the first of many field simulations will begin in an hour. If all goes well, then the Initiative will be good to go but will only be called upon when absolutely necessary." He's met with six nods from the whole team, a stare from Maria, and an adorable meow from Milkshake.

Once again, Steve finds himself asking, "Milkshake?"

"Yes," Maria says curtly as she reaches for the kitten that readily leaves Steve's warmth for hers and they do a smooth albeit stiff transfer. Her jaw clenches. "Problem?"

He shakes his head then swallows despite the sudden dryness of his throat. "Why?"

"I don't think that's any of your business." She glances at Milkshake as he climbs up her arm and practically drapes himself over her shoulder so she gently lays a hand on his back for support. "I appreciate your discretion, Captain, and if you know what's good for you, you'd keep it that way."

"Is that a threat, Lieutenant?"

 _It is_. "Take it however you want." Because they both know she's not just talking about her cat's name.

Tony raises a hand. "That sounded threatening to me."

She holds back a groan before saying, "I don't have time for this, Stark."

"Frankly, neither do I. But you're threatening the good captain and I think he needs a little saving."

Steve shakes his head and glances at the genius. "I don't need to be saved, Stark."

"Oh, but you do, Capsicle." While he normally stays blissfully unaware of situations like this particular one, he can't pretend not to notice tension this palpable. "You just don't want it. There's a difference."

Steve tilts his head, confused, but Maria's eye is twitching, apparently having caught on to Tony's meaning. Clint, who switched off his hearing aid upon his descent from the vents, is whistling loudly until he notices Nat smirking.

"Anyway, if you're going to give Cap a _hard_ time," Tony pauses to get his meaning across. "Do let me know so I could have some popcorn prepared."

Clint groans, "Right when I turn on my hearing aid. We're doing innuendos now?"

"Didn't know you were into voyeurism, Tony."

"I'm into everything, Red. Just ask Brucie-bear, he'll tell you." Tony winks, Bruce rolls his eyes but nods anyway.

Maria actually groans this time, more because of the situation than the fact that Milkshake is nibbling on her sleeve. "When did my life become a circus?"

 **\- x -**

"We might need more people for this."

"That's what I told Agent Hill. But she raised a valid point about this particular mission." Fury turns his seat away from his floor-to-ceiling glass wall so he can face the captain. "It's classified. And the only other capable agents with this level of clearance are either on the field, will be on a mission simultaneously, or are out of commission."

"So naturally you sacrifice your second-in-command." He manages a neutral tone but he's clenching his jaw so hard, Fury is almost surprised it hasn't broken off yet.

He stares at Steve a while. "I'm not sacrificing anyone, Captain; she volunteered."

Steve almost takes a step back but he continues, "And you're just going to let her?"

He simply raises an eyebrow in response because he's had this conversation with Maria, except he was less worked up about the situation when he was on the other side. He knows Maria Hill is more than capable of taking care of herself. But this mission is already showing signs of a connection to Wheaton and he's apprehensive only because he thinks she might be too close to it. Now he's wondering about the captain's excuse. _Interesting._

"If it really bothers you, Captain, you can take it up with the Deputy."

"I will, thank you," Steve nods and checks his watch, 2034.

Fury notices this, however, and stops him on his way out. "I suggest you sit on it till the morning, Captain. But if you need to see her now, she'll be leaving for her apartment at 2100."

If Steve were alert as Captain America, he would've noticed the peculiar way Fury constructed his last words. However, his mind zeroed in on another opportunity to talk to Maria 'outside'. He respects her boundaries but he will push when and where he can.

 _When you want something, you work hard for it._

She did say that. And he does want her. So he will try again. He has to.

Which is why when Maria arrives at her apartment, she's greeted by Steve half-sitting, half-leaning casually against his parked motorcycle. She pauses for a second before she sighs and tries to just walk past him in dismissal. But he stands up, blocking her direct path so she stops in front of him even if they're standing in an open space and she can just as easily go around him.

"I already told you—"

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't. But what I said last time? That's what you needed to hear."

 _Needed to hear._ "Maybe. Maybe it's what I needed to hear." His voice takes a hopeful turn. "But it's not the truth."

She frowns and folds her arms across her chest. "Are you calling me a liar, Captain?"

"Should I?"

"I'm a spy."

"Yes, but you're human."

"Human." She leans back away from him and gives him a bitter smile. "Of course, we can't all be like you."

He shakes his head. "That's not what I meant and you know it." He takes a step closer to her and looks at her pleadingly. "I was there, Maria. Despite the way you carry yourself now, you're not incapable of feeling. I was there and I remember all of it."

She can feel her muscles twitch slightly as she narrows her eyes at him. "What do you want?"

 _You._ "The truth. Because I refuse to believe that what we had meant nothing to you. Because—"

"Well, believe it."

"Why else would you have a cat that apparently looks like me—"

"He was a gift, from Phil." She still has some fight left, even if she knows her argument is weak.

"Yeah? Did he name him Milkshake too?"

There's weak and then there's defeated. But she tries anyway. "I told you, milkshakes have a kick. That cat has it."

 _So do I_. "I just—" He takes a deep breath. "If you want nothing to do with me now, fine. But don't discount those months as if they were nothing."

She shrugs, trying to brush it off once again. "Believe whatever you want, Captain." She moves to walk away.

"Why do you do that?" She pauses mid-step and just raises an eyebrow in response. "Why do you deprive yourself?"

She scoffs. "Of you?"

He shakes his head. "Of what you want."

"Don't presume to know what I want," her voice sharp, cutting, as she nearly grits her teeth because how dare he?

"Then tell me." But she just stares at him for a while, long enough for him to know she won't tell him but short enough to let him know she didn't just zone out. She then shakes her head and walks towards her building. "Maria—"

"Good evening, Ms. Hill," greets a much older man in a uniform whose bright smile turns wary when he looks at Steve. "Is everything alright?" He asks and when Maria doesn't reply immediately, he asks again. "Is this gentleman bothering you?"

Funny, Steve thinks, he's seen her in action before and she can more than hold her own. The only reason he's even attempting to get her off this mission is he's worried. And selfish. And he's half-glad he didn't get to bring that issue up. She doesn't need protection yet this old man — her doorman, he thinks — looks about ready to aid her. But then he remembers they're _outside_ , where she's not publicly a SHIELD agent but a civilian.

"No, Edwin. Everything's fine, he's—" _Mine._ She remembers and catches herself, because she _did_ say that. And maybe he was, once upon a time, but— "We work together." She takes a few more steps towards her building. "He was just leaving, but thank you for always being on the lookout." She turns back to him with a tight smile and waves before she enters and he's left alone in the darkness of the night.

 **\- x -**

"Hey, Cap. How was your meeting with Hill?" When Clint only gets a huff and a grunt in response from the usually polite Steve, he and Natasha exchange glances.

"You know, for someone who's been frozen for nearly seven decades, one would think you'd developed an aversion to ice," comes Tony's two cents from his place by the fridge in the lounge unofficially allotted for them after their initial simulation went better than expected.

Steve bristles at Tony's implication. "Watch it."

"Tony—" Bruce warns as he shakes his head over his cup of tea but Clint cuts him off.

"Hey, man, I actually like you, surprisingly, but that's Maria you're talking about." Clint speaks with his usual relaxed demeanor but his eyes betray a seriousness akin to his namesake as an Avenger.

Tony's head snaps up, his eyes wide as they move from Steve to Bruce to Clint and finally Natasha who maintains an incredibly calm expression, only rendered less than perfect by the downturn of her lips. "Whoa, calm down." He says with arms raised in a placating gesture aimed at a slightly red-faced Steve. "Hill's great. She's got the true grit of a warrior of the world. She gets the job done. And most importantly, she indulges my incessant need to argue, as some of you might know how much I appreciate people who can match wits with my genius. Chill out. I actually _like_ her." And with that, Steve's flushed expression shifts but he maintains his glare. "Oh my God, I don't _like_ like her."

" _Like_ like? Really, Tony?"

"And just like that, the genius is reduced into a toddler."

"Hey, I detest that. Toddlers are unusually smart for such tiny human beings."

"Yeah, I'm guessing you built your first rocket when you were a toddler."

"No, but I built my first circuit board when I was four and my first engine when I was six."

Steve blinks at him, gobsmacked, and remembers the the Stark Expo Bucky had taken him to. He smiles despite the slight tension in his muscles, "Howard must've been very proud of you."

For a few seconds, nobody moves or talks or breathes. Tony takes a deep breath and smiles the smile he always has on during public appearances — wide, lips upturned, teeth bared; almost perfect that any ordinary person would take it at face value. Almost perfect except that his eyes lack those tiny crinkles in the corner. Natasha takes note of this and remembers from her time undercover that whenever Tony Stark was out and about, he had glasses on, even at night.

"Let's not bring back the past, shall we?"

 **\- x -**

"Just go, Rogers."

"No, you'll bleed out." He tries to keep the panic out of his voice as he tucks his shield back on his arm and supports her weight, chest to chest.

"Doesn't matter. Just focus on the mission; forget about me."

With a slightly ragged breath and a voice deeper than just a few seconds ago, "You know, sometimes, I really wish I could."

She pulls back from him and gently pushes at his chest to look him in the eyes. She wants to say something but she finds herself unable to speak. Must be the blood loss, she thinks.

"I didn't leave that scientist behind before and now it's you. Do you honestly believe I would let anything happen to you? Let alone leave you when you're injured?" _Leave you to die?_ She opens her mouth to respond but he cuts her off as he bends slightly to attend to the makeshift tourniquet she tied on her thigh. "Not a chance, Maria."

 _Maria_. She opens her mouth and before he could cut her off again, she says, "It's Hill." He glances at her as he ties the last knot tighter on her thigh and moves to lift her in a fireman's carry when she cocks her gun. "If you insist on carrying me, the best option is the piggyback; I can still shoot."

He carefully lifts her up as instructed. "Tell anyone about this and—"

"You'll kill me, I know."

"Good."

They manage to go through at least two dozen goons between them both before he feels her grip shift from his shoulder to tighten slightly around his neck before it loosens. He tightens his hold on her uninjured thigh but he feels her arm slide off of his body so he twists right before she falls and pins her to the closest wall. The jostling and the impact of her back on the wall and the feel of his body flush against hers elicits a quiet yet deep moan from her, courtesy of her hazy mind.

"I'm fine, just go," she thinks she says. Either she didn't quite say it right or Steve is just stubborn because she feels his hands on her face and has a vague recollection of him repeatedly calling out her name before she blacks out.

* * *

 _A/N: I hate myself sometimes. But it seemed as good a time as any to cut the chapter. I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me (and everyone else who can see) through a comment/review here or through a message over at tumblr so please do. Stay safe. Love-oo!_


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Notes: If I could apologize a thousand times for how late this update is, I would. I just couldn't catch a break. Take that however you will but I hope you understand. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Two days, Ria. I hate you."

She hums. Even with her eyes closed, she'd recognize that voice. "I know," her voice cracks from disuse so he feeds her ice chips.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Medical," she mutters around an ice chip.

"What about who you are?"

She peeks at him with one eye open. "Fuck you, Sully."

"Javi gladly will. Of course, I get to return the favor."

"Jesus Christ," she mutters. "Too early to talk about your sex life, Sully."

"Or your apparent lack of it." He commandeers one side of the bed and stretches out beside her. "It's never too early for sex, Ria."

A throat clears from the now open doorway. "You're awake," he blurts. He blinks and a staring match ensues between him and Maria before he smiles and shakes his head. "I'll just leave this here quickly and I'll be on my way," comes Steve's voice. Maria watches as he moves in and out of the room like someone's chasing after him. But on his way back out, he blurts, "I passed by a sushi bar on my way back here." He gestures to the package he set on the table near her bed. "But I didn't know what kind of sushi you liked so I got a bit of everything. The salmon and avocado one is highly recommended. For your blood, I mean, and your recovery in general. They're also delicious. Tony said he sent some things over for you but he didn't say what and—" He catches himself mid-babble and looks over at both occupants of the bed before he gestures out the door. "I should just go—"

"No, Captain Rogers." Sully cuts in and promptly stands up, smoothing the wrinkles of his clothes. "Stay. I hear you've been here the whole time; it's only fair you get her now that she's up." He pointedly looks at Maria who's got her eyes narrowed at him but says nothing. "By the way, Fury stopped by earlier, just sat by your bedside glaring at you. Probably thinking of ways to kill you when you get better."

She hums her agreement. "He should do it now; he won't get a chance when I'm better."

Sully just shakes his head as a fond smile washes over his features. "I'll just be outside if you need me." At her nod, he squeezes her hand. He claps Steve's shoulder on his way out. "She loves sushi; you did good."

"Umm, thanks?" Steve watches him leave until the door clicks behind him.

"Rogers."

He turns back to her lying on the bed. "Hill."

She clears her throat and quietly says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"The sushi."

"And?"

 _Saving my life_. "Don't push it."

It makes the corners of his lips curl up despite his rising anger. "How's the leg?"

"Fine."

He sighs before he shakes his head and with a frown, he asks, "Why are you so quick to disregard yourself? You berated me for risking my life to save another. You make sure other people are safe but when it's you—"

She looks away. "I don't want to talk about it."

He sighs again, "Okay. But—"

"No 'buts', Rogers."

"Not even for little Milkshake?" And just then, she hears a tiny meow from behind him and her head snaps back to him so fast that it's amazing she didn't get whiplash. She must be under quite the influence if she missed the way he purposefully hid one of his hands behind his back. "He misses you." _So do I_.

"You snuck him in?" She asks as she slowly pulls herself up into a reclining yet seated position.

He actually blushes as he sets the kitten down on Maria's side and watches him paw his way up her torso, bump his head on her jaw, and settle in the crook of her neck. "He's been yowling nonstop. I took him to the vet," he pauses and shakes his head. "Clean bill of health. So I figured…" He trails off and gestures toward her and the cat purring at the attention she's giving him.

She smiles and this time when she says, "Thank you," she really, truly means it.

"Of course. Besides, he's the Deputy Director's cat. He's got immunity."

She only realizes she's fallen asleep when she comes to about two hours later with her cat lightly patting her cheek and nose with his tiny paws. She opens her eyes to the sight of Milkshake's face and his meow, she huffs a laugh and looks away to find Steve still in his seat but now running a pencil across a pad. "Hey."

He snaps out of concentration and looks up at her then down at his work. "Hey," he says before he tries to inconspicuously close and hide the pad. "How was your nap?"

She just looks at him. "You're still here." _Why?_

"Romanoff said she's dropping by. I'm just waiting for the switch."

"The switch? I don't need a babysitter."

"Not a babysitter then, just a companion," he reasons with a sheepish smile.

She narrows her eyes at him before she reaches for the sushi he brought earlier. He catches a twitch in her eye and lip that he thinks means she approves of his choices. His chest swells with pride and amusement when she foregoes the chopsticks, probably in her hunger, only to be let down when she takes one and feeds it to her cat. Just as his shoulders sag, he sees her scoop another one up but this time, for herself. The process repeats until the cat denies her offer and instead nibbles on her fingers so she uses her other hand to feed herself. She catches him watching her and offers some of the sushi to him.

"I can hear your stomach from a mile away, Rogers. Besides, you ordered a feast; I can't consume all of this by myself." At his hesitation, she rolls her eyes and pats the side of her bed. "Come have some."

He moves from his seat to her bed and reaches for one. Soon enough, Steve feels tiny paws and claws making their way up the sleeve of his sweater and settling (read: draping himself) on top of his head. He catches a glimpse of Maria's teeth as she smiles but she looks away and hides it by clearing her throat and shifting the attention away from herself.

"So, what does it feel like to finally be out?"

"I'm, umm…" He manages to stop himself from going into a fit of coughs. "I'm sorry?" He takes Milkshake from the top of his head and lets him curl on his lap.

She studies his red-faced appearance for a short while before speaking, "Being queer isn't an issue for me, Rogers. If you are, I won't judge—"

"Neither would I. If you are, I mean," he hastily adds as he absent-mindedly pets the cat.

"Good to know. But what I meant was your first mission as Captain America. Pretty soon, the whole world will know you're alive."

He nods and looks at a random spot on the floor by her bedside. "If you're asking how I feel about that, well, I'm not sure." He glances up at her with a lopsided grin, "But I definitely missed my shield."

"And jumping out of planes without a parachute, I'm sure." She raises an eyebrow at his sheepish look.

He shrugs then, "I've always had a penchant for grand entrances."

She looks too intently at the rest of the sushi before turning her attention back to him. "Why did you wait?" When he simply tilts his head in response, she clarifies. "You could've been Captain America right away."

"Sometimes you wait because something or someone else isn't ready. Other times, it's you." He eats another piece before scratching at Milkshake's belly. "I wasn't. Not for the limelight, or for the weight of that title to be placed upon my shoulders."

"Not even for the backpay?"

Steve's head shoots up because did she just make a joke? He stares at her a while before he notices the slight twitching of her lips that makes him smile. "I may have missed it for a few months but I gained a whole lot more."

The air feels charged as they hold each other's gazes. Normally, Maria, stubborn as she is, would never give in. But just for today, she looks away. "I fucking hate painkillers."

Steve's laughter fills the room, more so when a huge teddy bear arrived tied to an incredible number of balloons from one Tony Stark.

\- x -

"You knew?"

He calmly paces with his hands behind his back. "I had my suspicions. And they've been confirmed in a lot of ways except in the way that matters most."

"And what is that?"

"Verbally. By you."

"Why me and not him?"

"Because, Maria, he's the reason I suspected in the first place."

 _Smug bastard_. "What is it that you know exactly?"

"I know I saw your little sushi party back in Medical, with your cat on his head." Fury may have just one functional eye but he uses it well when he wants to get his point across.

"I didn't ask for him if that's what you're insinuating."

"You didn't need to ask; Rogers would've brought him anyway. And don't think I didn't see the way you smiled at the sight of him."

"Him, as in the cat," she pointed out defensively, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Of course," he says. He saw the smile she tried to hide that day and his smug smile just says it all. "Look, I don't know what's going on now between the two of you—"

"Nothing."

"Right." Fury meets her narrowed gaze head on. "But given your," he pauses for emphasis, " _first_ meeting and how he's been since then, it's not that hard to put two and two together." He manages to keep his expression neutral this time but something about his aura just screams smug. "Why do you think I made his stealth training mandatory? The man has no subtle bone in his body. Certainly not when it comes to _you_."

Maria tilts her head and observes him. "That's not it."

"Are you saying you think he's subtle?"

"I'm saying suspecting that there's something going on is one thing and being convinced that there was a _history_ is another."

Nick Fury has always believed Maria Hill was brilliant. And despite their many disagreements in the past, he just never thought it would bite him in the ass. It's a welcome surprise that puts a smile on his face. "When I die, SHIELD will be left in good hands."

Her brow furrows. "What?"

"You caught me."

She studies him for a while before her eyes narrow at him. "You had him followed?"

"Warmer."

Her brows furrow before she runs a hand over her face as if to put on a mask of cool, calm, collected. "He would've found out if you planted a tracking device in his body so, his bike?"

"Bingo. And of course you know it was a bike because—"

"He was with me."

"Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't be together. Because whatever's happening or not happening, as you so adamantly claim, is none of my business until it becomes my business. But—"

"Stay out of it," Maria says sharply. "Sir."

A staring match ensues before he concedes, "Message received." He turns away to hide a snicker (because despite such an ominous aura, he does snicker) that has Maria glaring at the back of his head. And yet just like that, they're back to business. "Given what's happened, I think it's best if you stay out of the field for the time being."

"Why?"

"I need my deputy." She shakes her head. "They're baiting us, Hill."

"They're baiting him, specifically." When Fury looks back at her, she explains, "When we were in that hellhole, they made sure not to hit him too hard, didn't even shoot at him at all. I was expendable when we were separated, but the moment he had me on his person, I was safe." At Fury's raised eyebrow, she rolls her eyes and continues, "They made it a point to keep _him_ safe." She waited for it to dawn on him.

"That whole operation was staged." Maria nods. "And when you got there—"

"It wasn't an attack; it was an extraction."

\- x -

On his way to the conference room for a briefing, Maria intercepts him. "You're sitting this one out. New orders."

"From Fury?" She gives him a look that somehow conveys how stupid she thinks he is right that moment for even asking. "Why?"

"Go to his office and wait for him there. He'll answer any questions you might have regarding the matter." She walks away, expecting him to follow her orders. She enters her office and slumps, hands on her desk, waiting for her door to click shut but it doesn't. She looks up and finds Steve blocking her doorway. She straightens up and meets his gaze, waiting for him to enter.

"Answer me one thing. And don't—" He shakes his head. "Don't lie to me." She only raises an eyebrow, not betraying anything. "Did you know who I was?"

Oh. That was not what she expected.

"Back in Wheaton… Did you?"

But it could've been worse. "No." He nods, his intense gaze unwavering and she fights the urge to squirm, to give in. Especially when she sees something light up in his features, something akin to hope. "But that doesn't change anything."

She sees a muscle twitch in his jaw as it clenches. "I suppose not," he answers bitterly but he stays rooted in his place, as if he were waiting for something.

"I'm not going to apologize, Captain. Not for doing my job, and certainly not for who I am."

"No?" In two strides, he's on the other side of her desk, slamming his hand on the table and giving her one last look as if for emphasis before walking away.

When the door finally clicks shut, she releases her breath as her shoulders sag. She shakes her head and looks down, only now noticing that slamming his hand wasn't for emphasis. She reaches for the thing he left and uses her index finger to slide it closer to her. Her own scrawl from over a year ago mocking her.

 _I'm sorry._

She picks it up and flips it to see her own face, light and worry-free, laughing as a man kissed her cheek. The same man who exited her office just seconds ago.

Her jaw clenches before she relaxes, finding little relief in his question. She may not have lied but she considered it. In fact, she almost did before deciding that if nothing else, she could give him this.

If he asked about whether any of it was real, she would've given him the same answer. No. She'd give herself the same answer again and again, however long it takes until that lie becomes the truth.

That is the last time he ever brings up their past.

* * *

 _AN: As a consolation, I'll do my best to post another update before the end of this month. Be well and be safe xox_


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Notes: I failed to post an update sooner so I thought you could use a slightly longer one this time. If you're still reading this, I hope you still like it. Feel free to drop me a line._

* * *

"It was an extraction. But how did they even know to look for you, to wait for you? It was your first mission." Maria pauses too let her point sink in. "The only people who should've known you were coming were—"

"Damn it!" Fury turns and looks out the window. "From now on, everything related to this case stays among the three of us."

"With all due respect, Sir, I think the team deserves to know that someone is after one of them," Steve argues.

Fury glances at Maria for assurance which he gets in a single nod. "If you're sure."

Maria nods again. "I'll have Phil brief them in the morning."

But she never gets to. Because as pressing as preventing Captain America's possible kidnapping is, the fate of the world still holds higher priority, especially against an alien army attempting to take control over it.

An Asgardian manipulates an agent's mind.

Supposed teammates exchange harsh words.

Guilt and regret give way to success and camaraderie.

But not before a friend dies.

Moments after shawarma, several clean-up crews arrive with the reminder that all of them – now officially the Avengers – are needed at SHIELD to debrief. Everyone was tired, too tired to even argue their way out of it.

They're each given sufficient time to wash the dirt and grime off their bodies and to have their injuries treated. Steve is the first to arrive, given his accelerated healing and military speed and precision, and gives Maria a tired but contented smile in acknowledgement. He is soon followed by the twin assassins. They also happen to be the last to leave after agreeing to send Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard with Thor.

"You need a psych eval." Maria's statement was met with passionate protest except from the person she addressed.

"Back off, Hill." Natasha immediately responded with a stern, warning tone she almost never uses on Maria.

Masked disbelief colors Steve's voice when he says, "Hill, I don't think now's the time—"

"Why not? I know that a lot has happened and the world has a lot to thank all of you for but being the leader of this supposed team of heroes, shouldn't you be the one suggesting that in the first place?" Steve no longer tries to hide his disbelief at her response.

Natasha pushes off her chair with enough force to send it swiveling towards the wall. "He may have been under Loki's control but now he's not. He helped keep this planet in existence. He's not in danger of going on a rampage anytime soon so what's your problem?"

Steve feels on edge. He stays seated but alert and ready to spring into action any time a more overt (read: physical) kind of mediation is required by the situation.

"It's fine, Tasha," Clint finally speaks up, keeping a rather relaxed eye contact with Maria who barely had any reaction to Natasha's outburst. "She means well."

"The world's better off without a repeat of that." Maria attempts to shrug it off but the tension remains if not worsens. "Besides, it's not for me." A look passes between her and Clint before they nod at each other.

Natasha and Steve both look from one to the other before Natasha bows her head and clears her throat before reaching out to squeeze Clint's shoulder. "Remember what I told you." _Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for._ "And what I meant." _It's not your fault._

Clint gently pats the hand on his shoulder before leaving. At the click of the door, Steve just stands there, feeling awkward and clueless about the situation and looking the part.

Natasha hasn't moved from her place facing the door, fully aware that Maria's gaze is focused on her. "I'm sorry," she finally says.

Maria sighs and starts organizing her files. "That's not necessary."

"It is. And I am." She turns to look at Maria this time. She knew what it was to be a weapon. She knew what it was to be stripped of choices and free will. She knew what it was to be trapped in your own mind. She knew how it felt to be _unmade_ as Clint called it. In instances where your enemy is your own mind and the fear of losing control of it, sometimes the best reassurance is another person – a professional or someone you trust wholeheartedly – telling you that you've still got your shit together. That's what Clint needs. And it seems Maria understood that so, "Thank you."

Maria brushes it all off with a shake of her head. "He'd do it too. And so would you."

 _So would Phil._

The same thought crosses the women's minds as they walk out of the room together in quiet remembrance of their beloved friend.

In their wake is one confused Steve Rogers scratching the back of his head. "What just happened?"

 **\- x -**

The Avengers were at Coulson's funeral, in full force.

Natasha and Clint, sitting side by side and sharing silence with Agent May. Tony, beside a teary-eyed Pepper with a hand running soothingly up and down her back. Bruce, on Tony's other side sipping some tea. Steve, standing stiffly in a classic black suit and tie as opposed to his usual red, white, and blue.

The single glamorous addition to the otherwise modest arrangement was a white rose with a shiny, almost luminescent quality to its petals. It was the most beautiful one any of those in attendance had ever laid eyes on because it was a gift, courtesy of Thor. He had meant to pay his respects personally but more pressing matters presented themselves in Asgard.

As Phil had no family outside of SHIELD, the only other person in his close circle that was missing was Maria, prompting Clint to ask Natasha about it.

"I don't know, but I know she'll want to be here if she could." She spots Fury by the coffee and elbows Clint to let him know she'll be back with information.

"Romanoff."

"Hello, Nick." She reaches for two unused cups and holds it out for him to pour her some. "Where's Maria?"

His heavy sigh raises a few flags in Natasha's brain. "She was on her way here when she received intel about an open mission she worked on over a year ago." Natasha's face betrays none of her thoughts but Fury knows there must be a lot racing through her mind. "Yes, it's _that_ important. And yes, she'll be needing assistance as soon as the intel provides useful. But right now…" He tilts his head towards the huge portrait of Phil.

"Of course." She keeps one cup of coffee untouched and puts three sugars on the other.

"Three?"

Clint normally likes his coffee black. But sometimes… "He's a child," she answers with a smile and an eye-roll before she turns to leave.

"Natasha." Fury quietly says, catching her attention more than if he had called out her name for the whole room to hear. "Keep an eye on Rogers." At her narrowed gaze, he simply supplies, "Others are watching too. And not all of them have good intentions."

With that, she nods then makes her way towards Steve to hand him the untouched cup of coffee before sitting back down beside Clint and giving him the sweetened one.

Steve was lost in thought about the fallen agent. Phil had introduced himself as a fan first before an agent, not explicitly of course, but what did he do? He'd brushed him off like he didn't matter. He even got into a fight with Howard's son. He was beating himself up about the important people in his life leaving him and yet he doesn't even give the people of today a chance. Except for Maria, the person who reminded him how great life could be and the same person who seems to want nothing to do with him.

With a sigh, he looks down at the now-cold coffee Natasha gave him and decides that now is as good a time as any to start making friends. He downs the coffee and nods at Natasha in thanks. He goes for a refill and notices Fury for the first time.

"Captain Rogers," he greets. "More coffee?" He offers the pot.

"Please," Steve politely accepts. "Is all this…" he trails off and gestures towards the rest of the room where the only occupants left were Natasha who was now nose-deep in a book, Clint who was dozing off with his head pillowed on her lap, and a stoic, raven-haired woman who's been seated at the pew closest to Phil's upper half since he came in. "SHIELD tradition?"

"The funeral?" At the captain's nod, he continues, "Yes. For agents with no families." Fury follows Steve's gaze and promptly corrects himself to include everyone that matters—mattered to Phil. " _Civilian_ families."

"His wife?" Fury's responding look somehow made him feel like an imbecile.

"His partner. Before she asked to be transferred to admin." Before Steve even gets his next words out, Fury adds, "Don't ask." He glances at his watch then sighs. "It's late. There's someone I need to kick out of the office." He nods, "Captain."

"I'll walk you out. I need some air anyway."

Much later, he goes back to pay his respects one last time. He hadn't intended to stay out too long but he had some thinking to do and the fresh air helped a lot. He hadn't really expected the room to be empty but to his surprise, the woman from earlier was still there but she wasn't alone.

He makes his way to the pew she's seated on and stands beside her companion. He spots the open bottle of whiskey and clears his throat to call attention to himself. Both women turn to him but only one stands to brush the nonexistent creases off her clothes.

"Take care of yourself, Maria," she says quietly then nods at him before taking her leave.

He puts his hands in his pockets. "I thought you said milkshakes were better for sour moods than any alcohol?"

A long silence passes before she glances at him from the corner of her eye. "You're here, right?"

 _Milkshake._

His eyes widen in surprise before they soften. "Yeah, I'm…" He's unsure of how to approach her easy acceptance of his presence, especially when coupled with an acknowledgement of their past. But when she scoots over to give him enough space, he feels the corners of his mouth curl up as he sits beside her. "I'm here."

They stay in silence long after the sun has set, only passing the whiskey from one to the other.

"You never asked me," she pauses, stringing her words carefully. She's not drunk but she'll get there soon at the rate she's going, considering she and May had already had a headstart. And she needs to get this out, to let him know. "If any of it was real." She keeps her gaze locked on the bottle cap on the backrest of the pew in front of them. In the silence, he stills and waits, afraid that if he moved or even just made a sound, she'd shut down. "It was." She turns her head to look at him, earnest and open — a look he hasn't seen on her since their time together — and warmth seeps through every fiber of his being. "All of it."

He looks back at her, wanting so badly to pull her close and kiss her senseless. But he doesn't. Not like this. So he smiles and brushes the back of his fingers on her jaw before letting his hand rest around her nape and leaning close to plant a kiss on her forehead. "I know."

She closes her eyes and tucks her head under his chin, her nose nuzzling the hollow between his collar bones. Just for tonight, she allows herself to be wrapped in his arms. Just for tonight, she allows herself this reprieve.

 **\- x -**

She wakes up in a bed slightly smaller than the one in her apartment but softer than the bunk at SHIELD. Not hers, definitely not hers. She takes a deep breath and before her fight or flight instincts kick in, she finds her mind relaxing in perfect contrast to the pounding in her chest. She turns her head into the pillow and inhales. She'd recognize that scent anytime, anywhere, even over a year after the last time—

Is that coffee?

She sits up despite the dull ache in her head and breathes in the wonderful aroma of the greatest creation ever made…and something else — a hint of soap and musk, something so distinctly _him_ , stronger than on the pillows — that prompts her to look down at herself to find a faded navy sweatshirt with 'Brooklyn' printed in bold, block letters and tightly-wound sweatpants that still hang loosely around her hips when she stands up. She swallows down the aspirin with the glass of water she spots on the bedside table then looks around the room. It's clean save for the slight clutter of sketchpads, crumpled pieces of paper, and pencils haphazardly discarded over various sets of coloring materials. She pulls out a detached page hidden casually under a stack of sketch books and her breath hitches.

It's of her in a fighting stance, all decked out in her SHIELD uniform, her expression a cross between slightly annoyed and utterly amused, her gun cocked and ready to fire. It's beautiful, much like all the other drawings he'd let her see before, even if this one is only about halfway done — her face, her bangs, her gun, and some parts of her uniform have already been filled in with color. She thinks it's presumptuous to think this is her but the blue eyes, the hair, that bun and the set of her jaw is unmistakable. He _is_ talented.

She remembers the night before, when she'd all but sagged into his embrace. She wasn't completely wasted but with the weight of everything that's happened, she's surprised she could even walk. He must have driven because she was nearly falling asleep on him. She thinks she remembers whispering her address into his ear while he secured her seatbelt but if she's here in his apartment then she must've failed somehow.

She looks around once more but her clothes are nowhere to be found so she walks out of his bedroom with the drawing held delicately in her hand. Just in time, it seems, because he has his back to her but she can see him plating a tower of pancakes beside a bowl of berries and a generous serving of eggs and hash browns.

She's barefoot in his kitchen as he prepares what she assumes is supposed to be their breakfast. And if this isn't the very picture of domesticity, then she doesn't know what is.

She clears her throat and he twists his torso a little to look at her over his shoulder. "Good morning," he simply says with a smile, warm and welcoming and unassuming and perfect and— "I left some aspirin on the nightstand." She hates how he can make her feel guilty without breaking a sweat. When she hums, he speaks again, "I'm not sure if you have a hangover but regardless, I've made breakfast that can help." She hates it more how he does all these things because he wants to, regardless of what he gets in return.

"I haven't been fair to you."

"It's fine, Lieutenant." She bites back a cringe.

"It's really not, _Steve_." She says, the emphasis on his name having the desired effect. "I don't know how these things go exactly but I at least owed you a conversation."

"Maria—"

"I've said some things that I shouldn't have. That I didn't mean. I have the morning off so…" She looks away. "A discussion, if you still want that."

"A discussion of," he pauses, unsure of how of proceed. "Everything?"

"Yes. Past, present, and—" She catches herself, because— _What?_

"And?" There it is again, his boundless optimism.

She looks down at the artwork in her hand and wonders what he sees when he looks at her. "Everything." _Your call_.

He follows her gaze and promptly flushes. He clears his throat, however, and gestures to the food waiting for them on the counter. "How about we start with how you're feeling?"

She's quiet for a while after they've taken their seats. "I don't know." It's a start. "I don't have a lot of friends. He was one. He was like a brother. I've always known that this job takes more and more but it just doesn't…"

"Get any easier?" She nods. "But you're not alone." _I'm here_.

Phil always used to tell her to give people a chance because they might surprise her. Most people don't. And the few who do, well, they make her want to bang her head against the nearest wall. But— "I'm glad you were there last night. And here, now."

"Of course."

"You always—" She shakes her head because yes, he's always there. Like he knows whenever she needs him and in whatever way she does, even after she's pushed him away. "I lied when I said what we had meant nothing to me. And I meant what I said last night."

"About it being real?" She looks him straight in the eyes as she nods. "And if I say I still want you? Us?"

"We can't have everything we want."

Steve sighs. "You can't offer to talk about everything then speak in riddles, Maria."

She manages to look apologetic when she says, "Force of habit." She traces the rim of the mug with her fingers before she starts speaking again. "I feel...things. Things I can't explain but I feel them. For you. _With_ you. And sometimes I want to go back," she pauses to look at him, hoping to convey her thoughts without having to voice them out herself.

"To those months together?" She nods and it makes him smile. "All the time." Her eyes widen as she stares at him. "Come on, Maria. I keep my distance but I haven't exactly been that far. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since then. I want you and I haven't exactly been subtle about it that I'm surprised no one's noticed yet."

"Nick has," she interjects with a pointed look.

Steve can't say he's surprised exactly, given Fury's all-seeing eye. "If Fury can see it, then you have to see it too. You have to know that I lo—"

"Don't." She shuts her eyes, tight, and with a frown she continues. "I can't—" She opens her eyes to look at him and he nearly flinched at how raw and sincere they are. "Not now, Steve." _Not yet._ She hates the plea that seeps through her voice but he has to understand.

"Alright," he readily agrees because it's not absolute rejection; not a final period to their story. "But we don't have to be together for me to care about you." He reaches for her hand and pauses when he's close enough to see if she'll allow it. She does, so he holds her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. "I feel things for you too. I like how I feel when I'm with you."

Her lips twitch and she ducks her head to hide it. "Me too," her voice is quiet but no less certain.

"So whenever you're ready…" He intentionally leaves it open-ended.

She looks down at her hand in his. "It won't be easy—Hell, _I_ won't be easy."

"I don't want easy, I want you."

She looks up at him before moving her hand and lacing her fingers with his. "I'll let you know." She can't help smiling from the way his grin looks like it could split his face in two. Then suddenly it falls.

"Wait, what about that other guy? Robert, was it?"

"Sully? What about him?"

"Aren't you… I thought…" He trails off.

"You thought we were together?" Steve tilts his head as if his assumption was only rational. "He's _married_."

"Oh?"

"To Javier."

"Oh. _Oh.._. And the 'girls'?"

" _Their_ girls. Twins. Apparently I'm their godmother and I haven't even met them."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'. Is that why you've been hostile towards him?" She pulls her hand away from his and folds her arms across her chest.

"Me? Hostile? Never!"

She scoffs. "You were! He's caught on and he's been provoking you ever since."

"He was talking about having sex with you," he argues. "On your hospital bed!"

"He was not. You jumped to inconceivable conclusions."

"Alright, maybe I did. I was jealous." He says and reaches both his hands out to her. "You get it out of me."

She bites back a smile and shakes her head. "Shut up, Steve," she mutters but she relents and covers his hands with hers. They sit there, gazing into each other's eyes as they enjoy breakfast until Steve pulls her free hand up to plant a kiss on it.

"Someday, Maria."

She opens her mouth to respond but with him looking at her, raw and exposed and sincere, she finds herself basking in the words unsaid but loom over them, in the emotions they feel but can't say just yet, and in the silence where a promise has been made.

 _Someday._

* * *

 _A/N: I won't be making any promises re: updates anymore but know that I'm already working on the next one. Take care of yourselves and never stop fighting the good fight xox_


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Notes: Update! But before that, a few things:_

 _1) I was told that my version of Maria was unlikable. First of all, the concept of likability is subjective and relative. It is an unfair burden placed on women, fictional or otherwise, and I will not let latent misogyny dictate how I write. So my response to that is: "Thank you for having read my work so far but you have to either suck it up and deal with it or drop it." Comment on my inability to keep the character and/or plot development consistent if that, but do not use likability as a basis for whether a female character is well-written or not._

 _2) My intention here and on other earlier works is to spread Captain Hill love but if you find new, unconventional ships implicitly or explicitly explored, then feel free to spread rainbows everywhere._

* * *

On her way back to SHIELD, she decided a quick stop at her apartment was necessary to avoid sparking rumors about her walk of shame. Luckily for her, Steve decided to drive her home last night in a SHIELD-issued non-descript black SUV. More so since the glove compartment, along with other convenient crevices of the vehicle, had a gun stashed in it. Not to mention the built-in secret machine gun Fury's been bragging out.

She would complain that it was too early to be dealing with a tail but it's happened one too many times before. Besides, it was part of the job description. She doesn't even break a sweat for the first few minutes. She's gone through a similar experience so many times that shaking a tail came easily enough for her. However, when the leather-clad, masked bike rider tracked every twist and turn she made, she reached for the handgun closest to her and allowed her back to straighten.

She took a turn that led to an alley behind an abandoned warehouse and made a quick U-turn to wait for her assailant with her gun on the ready, aimed in front of her.

What she wasn't counting on was that her tail would surprise her by dropping from the roof of the warehouse to the roof of her SUV. She pushed her seat all the way down while firing the whole magazine into the roof. She heard a grunt but knew better than to relax and be complacent. She then reached for the rifle under the backseat and aimed but before she could squeeze the trigger, a gloved hand punched through the windshield and reached in to pull the roof off like as if it were nothing but a can of tuna.

For a second there, she lay frozen in shock but she recovered quickly and pulled the trigger. The masked assailant simply bent his left arm in front of his body as one would when blocking a punch. Another grunt and Maria was sure she got his solar plexus but it didn't seem to faze him. In fact, he reached down, forced the rifle out of her hold, and tossed it out of the car. Then, he pulled her up by her throat and threw her like a ragdoll to the wall of the warehouse. She held back a groan at the pain of the impact as she dropped on the ground. She could hear the man's footsteps as he approaches her and yet she forces herself up on her hands and knees, pulls her skirt up on one side, and slides a short but sharp blade onto her hand.

The man pulls her up, her feet dangling above the ground, and locks her shoulders with an arm. "Who are you and what business do you have with Steve Rogers?" The man's hair obscures most of his face and his mask muffles his voice, making it even more unrecognizable.

 _Steve Rogers or Captain America?_ "Who wants to know?"

"I do." When she simply raises an eyebrow for the lack of information, he raises his arm to her neck, effectively cutting off her air supply. "Don't make me hurt you any more than I have to."

"If you're after intel… You'd be better off… Killing me."

He seems to be considering her suggestion but instead, he asks, "Are you a friend or an enemy?"

"You tell me." With one swift motion, she stabs her knife deep into the arm holding her up. However, it doesn't sink in as smoothly as it should. The man grunts once again and loosens his hold on her enough to allow movement so she gifts him with her killer right hook and a swift back kick to his solar plexus right around where she shot him earlier. Another grunt is heard from the impact. She resumes her fighting stance as she watches him take the knife out. But when no blood spurts out, only whirring that she's sure she's heard before but can't quite place, she takes a step back. "Who are you?"

His head tilts to one side then his brow furrows before she notices his eyes widen a fraction, glinting with what seems to be recognition. "Your hair was longer…"

She tenses a bit because her hair _was_ longer. "Who are you?"

He drops her knife on the ground then slowly backs away from her. "Don't bother looking for me. You won't find me unless I want you to." And with that, he sprints out of the alley with her hot on his heels.

She misses him for only a few seconds but when she emerges from the alley, only the early morning air greets her from the other side. She looks back into the ruins of the car and sighs. "Well, that's one way to get a convertible."

 **\- x -**

" _My office ASAP_."

That was the message that had Steve bumping into Natasha in his rush to get there. "Did you get the message too?"

He nods. "Have you seen her? Is she okay?"

"I don't know but if she's using words, then it can't be that bad." She notices Steve's wary glance at Clint who was waiting by the door to Maria's office. "He got cleared just this morning so he's free. And if this is a mission, he could use the distraction. We all could."

Steve nods again and addresses Clint. "Is she in? Is she okay?"

"No." At drastic changes in both their expressions, he clarifies, "I meant she isn't in yet but Fury's inside."

Upon their entry, Fury takes one look at Clint then turns to Natasha with a raised eyebrow. At her shrug, he informs them that she's on her way. "Note that only top trusted agents," he glances at Steve. "And Captain Rogers are in attendance. Keep it quiet until further notice."

"Is she okay?" Steve's frustration at being kept in the dark slipping into his worried tone.

Fury purses his lips. "She's—" Just then, the door opens and in strides a disheveled Maria Hill. "Here."

"Someone's doing the walk of shame," Natasha teases even as her eyes catalog everything off about Maria's appearance.

At first glance, she seems just a little worse for wear. However, as she strips off her blazer, holding in a wince in the process, an unsightly map of her most recent ordeal is revealed —caked blood and dirt scattered all over her arms and legs, a burst of colors forming on one of her elbows and along her shoulders and knees, and that unmistakable bruise around her neck. Not to mention the coarse quality of her voice when she finally speaks.

"Yes," she readily answers. Given the urgency of the situation, she'd forgone dropping by her apartment for a change of clothes. "Meanwhile in other news, I was attacked by a masked man who doesn't bleed."

"Whoa ho ho! Did Maria Hill just make a funny?" Clint, having his back turned to her, jokes around but one glance at Maria and he's all business. "Details."

She relayed her version of the events that occurred prior to her arrival and it elicits the question, "You drove that improvised convertible all the way here?"

She nods. "No tail this time. The only damage was the windshield. And the bullet holes. But the mask already took care of that."

"And the rest of the roof, apparently." Fury grumbles and glares at no one in particular. Knowing how proud he was of that particular line of SHIELD-issued vehicles – of which there were only four in full function so far, Maria bit her tongue to keep from saying anything potentially untoward.

"Any idea who he was?"

"No. But apart from having strength beyond normal human capabilities, he seems to know who I am. Or at least he knows me from when I had longer hair." At their blank stares, she explains, "After I stabbed him, he took a good look at me and said my hair was longer."

"And it was," Steve quietly interjected, thinking back to when they first met. "But how did he know that?"

 _Ding._ Fury clears his throat at the captain's slip. "More importantly, _when_ did he know that? You've let your hair grow a couple of times before. "

Clint tilts his head, keeping his gaze on Maria. "You said he mentioned Rogers; it must've been the most recent time you grew your hair out."

"And he didn't say anything else about me?"

"No. He just said not to look for him because we won't find him unless he wants us to."

Natasha's brows furrow. "He asked you what business you had with Rogers and upon determining that you were a friend, he left. And here you are, alive and arguably safe, considering he could've killed you or tortured you for intel."

"I told him he'd be better off killing me if he wanted intel. But I think I see your point."

Natasha nods. "He could be a friend protecting Rogers. But if he is, I don't see the need to be so elusive. So he must be an enemy trying to ensure he stays alive." When Maria, Steve, and Fury exchange looks, she asks, "What is it?"

"That second one seems more in line with recent events." Fury says and keeps them up to speed on everything except Maria and Steve's _real_ first meeting.

"Are you sure the mission in Wheaton and the extraction are connected?" Natasha asks.

Maria hums. "Considering 'perfect supersoldier' falls under human experimentation, it's an angle we're looking at."

"Seems plausible," Clint leans back from where he's seated. "Wait, if he's an enemy trying to capture Captain America alive, shouldn't he have abducted you so he could negotiate a trade?"

Everyone seemed to consider it but Maria had an answer. "Maybe he was smart enough to know I wouldn't have been enough as leverage."

"That's not true," Steve says as he absently takes a few steps closer to where Maria was standing.

Maria scoffs and turns to him. "Are you telling me you would've gone through with the exchange?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no doubt.

"That's stupid and you know it." She crosses her arms and meets him head on. "Besides, SHIELD wouldn't have exchanged Captain America for some agent."

They're only about a foot or so away from each other. "You are not just _some agent_ and SHIELD doesn't own me."

"What is happening?" Clint whispers at the obvious tension. Natasha simply shrugs, watching the exchange with a curious, even amused, look on her face despite the seriousness of the situation. Fury keeps a calm exterior despite being so close to hitting both Maria and Steve upside their heads. He tried to make up for Steve's slip earlier but this is beyond his control. After all, she did tell him to stay out of it.

"Do you have any idea what could happen if you get captured and used as research to build an army of supersoldiers?" Steve doesn't back down but he doesn't respond either.

Finally, Natasha changes the subject. "Why did you keep all of this from the team despite the threat on Rogers' life?"

"The Chitauri Invasion," Steve answers without looking away. "No threat on my life could've held a higher priority than the planet's safety."

Natasha hums in agreement. "And the rest of the team?"

This time, Maria looks away and nods at Fury. "No one outside of STRIKE knew about Captain America being back prior to that mission. How anyone could've known to prepare for an extraction beforehand is beyond me. Unless they've hacked our system undetected…" Fury trails off.

"Or we have a mole." Even Steve seemed surprised by this revelation. "Any suspects?"

"Rumlow."

Despite being inclined to agree, Natasha needs to know. "You sure? You've hated his guts since day 1."

Maria shrugs. "Doesn't make me wrong."

"Doesn't make you right either."

"True, but he was in Wheaton as my back-up; back-up that arrived much later than it should have, might I add. And after that, he adamantly tried to brush me off as paranoid when I suggested that Eriksen could've had a backer."

"Plus, he's a dick." All eyes turned to Clint. "What? He is! And I see how much of a bully he is when no superiors are around."

Natasha agrees, "His being planted is not difficult to believe. Question is, by whom?"

The silence that stretches more than is comfortable makes their lack of answers more apparent.

"We need to be certain – if it's really him and if he's working alone. As for the rest of your team, Stark, Banner, and Thor will know once we've flushed out the mole. But for now," Fury turns to the twin assassins. "STRIKE doesn't know you're involved. Check them out, stealth mode." He receives nods in response. "Now, Captain, I believe you promised Agent Sullivan your attendance at the Academy's Operations Division."

At this, Maria turned to Steve with a raised eyebrow. Steve hangs his head to hide the slight color of his cheeks at being reminded of their conversation earlier. "I was told the new recruits needed some inspiration. See you folks later." He stops by the door, as if he's just remembered something. "Agent Hill? Please have your injuries attended to." His gaze lingers a bit on her, especially on her exposed neck, before he finally leaves.

Clint follows Fury and Steve out. "Did he really just say 'folks'?" He shakes his head. "But he's right. If Dr. Cho doesn't report your visit, I will personally drag you to her."

"Dr. Cho's a little overqualified for a few scrapes and bruises, don't you think?"

"She's the only one you don't want to stab with a scalpel," Natasha reminds her. Right before the door closes behind her, however, she sticks her head back in. "Oh, and Maria? I know Steve's a supersoldier and all but he's not that perfect."

Maria sighs in exasperation. "Out."

Natasha raises her arms in mock surrender and smirks the whole way out of her office. She really wasn't fishing. She's not even sure there's fish to catch with Maria and Steve. Besides, all she saw the night before was the two of them driving off together. But considering Maria stayed behind with May and an open bottle of whiskey, she probably wasn't in any condition to be driving and Steve, being the old-fashioned gentleman he's always been with everyone, decided to drive her home. But Maria wouldn't have shared her address with just anyone. So the walk of shame must've been from having spent the night at Steve's. _With_ Steve? Nah, last time she checked, they could barely be civil towards each other unless a mission was involved, as evidenced by their argument just earlier. So no, she wasn't fishing. Because if she were, she wouldn't go to Maria.

"Rogers, wait up!" She catches up to Steve and walks side by side. "Things got a little heated back there. You okay?"

"Yeah, Agent Hill's just a little—"

"Stubborn?"

"I was going with 'intense' but that works too."

They share a laugh and Natasha asks, "Listen, are you dating anyone?"

The question surprises Steve so much that he stops mid-stride. "What?"

"This job can be really stressful and some people find dating to be a wonderful distraction." She'd done the same with Maria before but she'd given up on finding anyone for her years ago.

"I…can see how that might work."

"Yeah? Well, do you know Katrina from Accounting?" At the shake of Steve's head, she continues, "You might have seen her around. You know, about my height, curvy, glasses, and a bob of raven hair. She's really good with numbers and computers." Blank. "Anyway, I overheard her talking to someone in the ladies' room about wanting to meet you. You interested? I can set it up for this weekend."

"Umm, I'm not sure how I can help her with accounting."

Natasha blinks. She guesses that answers her question about the possibility of him and Maria. So he's worse than she thought? Challenge accepted. "It's not about accounting. It's more of a…social call, if you know what I mean." She wiggles her eyebrows for emphasis.

"Oh." It's Steve's turn to blink. Twice. "It's nice of you to offer but I think I'll pass."

"You have plans this weekend?"

"It's not that."

"Oh, so you _are_ dating someone?"

"It's not that either." Natasha's a bit skeptical as they approach the elevators so she tilts her head, patiently waiting for an explanation. "But I don't think—Katrina, is it? I don't think Katrina and I would be a good fit."

The doors finally open and Steve enters. "Got it. I'll get back to you on that."

"That's not what I—" Just then the elevator door closes with him alone inside.

 **\- x -**

"SHIELD, huh?" He breathes into the morning air from his perch on a high-rise.

He'd guessed that she was some sort of spy back when he'd first seen her; he just didn't know which agency. She was rather impressive. He's been doing this for decades, however, and he'd be damned if he lets the closest link he has go. So he'd lain low and let her believe she shaken off her tail.

He grunts at the pain in his abdomen as he swings down from rooftop to rooftop till he reaches the bike he'd hidden inconspicuously behind a dumpster in an alley.

He mentally curses her as he logs three bullets — two through-and-through's in his torso and one still inside his shoulder, plus the graze in his thigh. He bares his teeth shortly out of irritation and surprising admiration. Impressive, indeed.

He switches his mask for a helmet and speeds away into traffic.

* * *

 _A/N: I keep making you wait and I want to say sorry because I am but I know that that won't change anything so please bear with me, stay with me, cry with me, etc. I hope y'all are faring better than I am at this thing called life._


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's Notes: School's finally out but I might start work soon so I had to put this up before things go crazy again. I'll try to keep updating on a monthly basis but I make no promises. I've seen the ending to this but I haven't seen the way there just yet so be patient with me. And as usual, thank you all for putting up with me x_

* * *

"You're taking Coulson's place?"

Maria sighs, expecting some sort of resistance from the team. "On top of everything else, yes."

"Deputy Director _and_ liaison to the Avengers? Seems like a lot." Natasha says, casually claiming one of the couches and using the side of Clint's thigh as a pillow.

"Yeah, we could be a handful." Clint adds from his perch on the arm of the couch as he sheepishly rubs a spot behind his ear.

"People come and go but the world carries on."

"Aye, Captain," comes Thor's response, one of his hands landing on Steve's shoulder. "So must we."

"Well, that's the job." Maria rests her elbows on her desk. "It's not always sunshine and rainbows but it's never boring."

"Except when you're assigned to babysit obnoxious brats."

She glances at Steve from the corner of her eye and allows a faint smile to grace her features. "Yeah."

"But you hate us."

"And the obnoxious brat speaks up," Natasha teases, earning herself a glare from Tony and a raised eyebrow from Maria. But she wouldn't contest Natasha on the matter; after all, she wasn't the one who had to do the babysitting.

"Shut up, _Natalie_ ," he counters, only proving her point when he sticks his tongue out at her.

Maria rolls her eyes at their antics and at the genius' assumptions. "I don't hate you."

Tony shakes his head and clarifies, "You don't hate _Steve_." That has Natasha's ears perking up. "But the rest of us?"

"She doesn't hate me," Clint deadpans.

"She loves me," Nat confidently states with a grin.

Thor puffs out his chest and says, "I am loved by everyone. Except in Jotunheim."

"She's wary of the Other Guy but I think we're fine," Bruce shrugs.

"Oh, so it's just me." Tony feigns nonchalance, a known defense mechanism. "I guess that's fine, nothing new there. I'll just fly over to the airbase to see if Rhodey needs upgrades for his War Machine suit."

"You are all dismissed." Maria leans back on her chair. "And just because I'm your liaison now, doesn't mean you can hang out in my office anytime you want. I'm looking at you, Clint."

He winces, preparing to argue but the look she sends his way has him sighing. "Yes, Ma'am."

Just as Tony stands to leave, Maria calls to him. "Stark. A word?"

Tony's nonchalance slips and in its place, defiance. "If you're going to kick me off the team, might I remind you that I am officially just a consultant that provides the team with the best tech upgrades so—"

"You are no longer just a consultant."

"I'm not?"

"Not after New York, you're not."

Nonchalance is back as he takes slow steps back to the center of her office. "And why was I not informed?"

Her eyebrow rises, more out of amusement and exasperation. "Did you attend the meeting Ms. Potts arranged for you last week?"

"No." And he had the gall to mock offense at the very idea of him attending a meeting at his own company.

"Then there's your answer. You made it clear last time that Ms. Potts isn't just your CEO; she's also practically your personal manager. Or rather, Iron Man's personal manager who acts on behalf of you and your best interests."

Tony stares at her, almost as if trying to determine whether to believe her or not. His silent nod suggests he does. And Maria, with all the comfort she draws from silence in general, finds _his_ silence disconcerting, especially after he'd looked away from her piercing gaze.

Maria licks her lips and hopes she doesn't regret it when she says, "You know I don't hate you, right?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I want to clock you sometimes to shake some sense into you and I wish you would listen more than you talk." She walks around her table and leans on it as casually as she can. "You're a giant pain in the ass, Stark, you really are. But—"

"Aww, Hill, I didn't realize how emotional you could get."

" _But_ I don't hate you." She ignores the sarcasm and opts for honesty. "Those people out there, your team? And Ms. Potts, Col. Rhodes, Mr. Hogan… They care about you. Not because you give them things but because you're… _you._ You're family to them. And you were a friend to Phil. The logic in that escapes me but that's part of why I don't hate you. He was an excellent judge of character and he believed you were worthy of being an Avenger despite Natasha's assessment. You should too."

He lifts his chin up. "I've always known that."

"But you haven't accepted it. Which is why you keep one foot out the door and why you try so hard you push everyone away."

"Look who's talking," he challenges.

She huffs, willing any divine entity to gift her with patience. "I am not the topic of conversation here."

"Might as well be," he sits back down with his legs crossed at the knees, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. "You have a supersoldier who, I believe, is willing to wait hand and foot on you. So what's holding you back?"

"We already have an agreement—"

He leans forward, giddy all of a sudden at the hint of gossip. "An agreement?"

"The terms of which are none of your business. But no one will be waiting hand and foot on anyone. You, on the other hand, have Ms. Potts and—"

"We broke up," he blurts out, surprising both of them. "Right after New York."

Maria's eyes widened a fraction before they relaxed back into her neutral expression. "Are you…" She shifts almost imperceptibly in her seat on the edge of her desk because she may not hate him but she definitely dislikes emotional conversations and she had just given her all into the pep talk a few minutes ago. She clears her throat and tries again. "How are you holding up?"

"Well, she's still the CEO of Stark Industries so I'm that mature, at least." He only gets a pointed look in response and for some reason, he readily rids of his façade and simply opens up. "I love her and she loves me. So it hurts. Almost like I was in Afghanistan again." His hand absently rubs at the space where his arc reactor lies underneath his designer clothing. "But she can't watch me throw my life away. She can't wake up one day to the news of my death. She can't keep waiting for that phone call that won't even connect. And I can't blame her. I can't make her wait until I...fix myself."

Maria studies Tony for a while and figures that's the reason Ms. Potts believed that Iron Man being a full-fledged Avenger was in Tony's best interests. And she may be right, but evidently it doesn't make things better for them and their relationship. She takes a deep breath, stands up to make two half-full mugs of coffee, and then grabs the bottle of Natasha's favorite vodka left from when she made Deputy Director. She tops each mug off with vodka then hands him one before taking a seat at the couch Natasha previously occupied.

"Isn't this against regulations?" He asks purely out of his innate desire to challenge.

Maria shrugs, "Screw regulations."

"Ooh, I think I like this version of you," he grins, seemingly back to his normal, jovial self.

"Just shut up and drink."

And they do, basking in silence that, while still a bit odd, they both draw comfort from.

 **\- x -**

"Any tails recently?"

"Not in the last two weeks." Maria eyes dart toward Natasha. "At least no one hostile."

"Told you she'd notice." Natasha shrugs at Fury.

Maria scoffs. "That hot-rod red bike the first time wasn't even subtle. Seemed more like Stark's style."

"It _was_ Stark's."

"Stolen?"

"Borrowed," Natasha plasters on an innocent look but Maria sees right through it.

"Let me guess, without his permission?"

Natasha smirks. "JARVIS loves me."

Maria chuckles with a shake of her head. "He is in way over his head, trying to house you all."

"You should come and visit sometime. I'm sure he'd really like that." The ambiguity of the _he_ is not lost on any of the room's three occupants. When Maria simply hums, she continues, "He might even offer you your own place…"

"I'm happy where I am, thank you."

"You won't have to move. You'll just have a place that's yours when you're in New York."

Maria sends her a sly grin. "Are you asking me to move in with you, Natasha?"

"I don't do roommates."

"Unless it's Clint?"

"Unless it's necessary," she corrects but eventually relents. "Or Clint."

"There you go," Maria smiles smugly and takes a sip from her freshly-brewed coffee.

"Besides, I don't think you'd want a roommate once you finally let the golden boy into your pants."

Maria sputters, nearly inhaling her coffee. "Where did that come from?"

"Oh, I don't know… Tony's incessant teasing about how you play favorites with Steve while he pines after you… Steve's increasing number of lunches with Sully after training the recruits… And my personal favorite, the thick and palpable sexual tension between the two of you."

"You could cut through it with a knife," Fury adds in agreement. At Maria's glare, he raises his hands and explains, "Hey, if Stark sees it…"

"Just visit and see for yourself, Maria. As much as you two get on each other's nerves, with or without conscious effort, Tony wants you to have a place there."

"So you're doing his dirty work for him now?"

"If it gets you the protection you need," Natasha shrugs.

Maria crosses her arms. "I'm not running from the masked man."

"Of course not," Fury holds back a sigh. She's always been stubborn. "But if he does come back for you, wouldn't you want the Earth's mightiest heroes right behind you?"

"Is that what they call us now?" Natasha interjects.

"It's actually a good idea; the apartment at the Avengers Tower, I mean. Putting Natasha on as your tail was a temporary measure. This could be a little more permanent."

Maria's mouth falls open as she gives them both an incredulous look. "And you think putting me and Rogers – his likely targets – under one roof is a smart move?"

"Only because said roof has a central AI, top Stark tech, and the Avengers at its disposal," Natasha finishes with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Call it team-building."

"You're both leaving in a quinjet tomorrow at 0700."

Maria's shoulders slump in defeat. "You realize you could have just given the order right from the start, right?"

Fury bares his teeth. "Now, where's the fun in that?"

 **\- x -**

A loud blaring somewhere fairly close to his ear rouses Tony from sleep.

"Sir? Sir."

Tony groans into his pillow.

"Sir? I apologize. I know you said no wake-up calls before noon but—"

"If it's not noon, then shut up, JARVIS." When the AI does shut up, he sighs and turns to lie on his back. "Sorry, buddy, what is it?" The continuing silence has him pushing himself and rubbing a hand on his face. "Alright, I'm up, I'm an ass, and I'm sorry."

A short yet notable pause hangs in the air before the disembodied voice speaks up once again. "You asked me to notify you of Agent Romanoff's return."

"And?"

"And what, Sir?"

Sometimes JARVIS can be such a little shit. "Was she successful?"

"I believe so, Sir."

"Don't leave me hanging, JARVIS," he whines as he crawls up his bed to lean on the headboard with his eyes closed.

"She is not alone."

He perks up a little. "Alright, alright. Shower now. You better have my coffee ready."

"Already brewing, Sir."

He yawns before asking, "What time's it, anyway?"

A pause, then, with an all too cheery voice, JARVIS responds, "A quarter to 8, Sir." And Tony swears there was a smug smile in the AI's tone.

"Why do you all torture me?" He asks no one in particular as he shuffles to his en suite with eyes half-closed. It had just turned 6am when his head hit the pillow after all.

"It is my life's purpose, Sir."

He groans again. "I swear to god, I'll reprogram the snark out of you, JARVIS."

"Of course, Sir."

He never will.

 **\- x -**

"Agent Hill, what a welcome surprise," Pepper greets.

Maria smiles at the woman sipping coffee from behind the counter. "Always a pleasure, Ms. Potts."

"Just Pepper, really, I insist."

"Then I insist on the same courtesy."

"Of course, Maria." Pepper chuckles then turns to the other woman, readily giving her a quick yet warm hug. "Welcome back, Natasha. Coffee, ladies?"

"Please."

Once they've settled around the counter with their coffees exactly how they take them, Pepper asks, "So are you here about your unit?"

Maria blinks. "Unit?"

"In the tower."

Natasha sends a look her way that basically screams, "I told you so."

"He's got a unit ready for you. Don't tell him I told you but he'd had it designed with you in mind. He'd had a number of units personally designed with the members of this team in mind, actually. But he's left a few units bare in case his profile of each member turns out wrong. So you can still take your pick."

Before Maria could respond, the elevator dings, signaling a new arrival.

"Oh," Bruce pauses in his steps. "Good morning, ladies."

"Good morning, Bruce." Pepper smiles and pecks him in the cheek.

"Hey, Banner," Natasha lazily salutes him.

"Natasha," he nods.

"Dr. Banner," Maria raises her cup in greeting.

"Moving in, Agent Hill?" He asks her and panics a little when she suddenly groans.

"Am I the last to know about this ploy to get me to live here?"

Pepper chuckles allowing Bruce to relax. "Well, if it's a _ploy_ , then you're probably right."

The elevator dings again and the doors open to reveal Captain America himself, back from his usual morning run. Upon spotting her, he makes a bee-line towards her with a shy grin. "Agent Hill, hi. Are you—"

She all but whirls around to face him, leaving Steve stunned. "If you ask me about moving in, I might just slug you."

"Jeez, such a violent response to the captain's proposition. I didn't even know you were already at _that_ stage in your relationship." As usual, Tony makes his grand entrance in a three-piece suit, his trademark red sunglasses already adorning his face, and his coffee cup already in hand. He moves to stand beside Pepper, planting a kiss on top of her head. "Morning, Pep."

Pepper hums and leans into his torso, watching as Steve finally recovers. "I was just going to ask if you were here on official business or just visiting."

"Both, actually." She sighs. "Alright, Tony, let's see it."

Tony mock gasps. "Agent Hill, I never—"

"The unit, Tony," Maria corrects but at the ensuing snickers and giggles, rolls her eyes again. "You are all children."

 **\- x -**

"Avengers," he tests the word as he reads the article on the ragtag group of people that the media call the Earth's mightiest heroes. "Not bad, punk."

He sees a flash of red in the picture on the lower right corner of the page. He thinks that particular shade is familiar but he can't quite place it until he turns the page and realizes what it is – a woman's hair. He rifles through the fragmented memories his brain has managed to retain but without the woman's face, he is at a loss. He scours the print and online media for a photo or even just a profile of her but despite the media coverage, he comes up with nothing.

He needs to see her.

So with a cut-out of the Stark Tower – now the Avengers Tower – folded and securely tucked into his back pocket, he sets out to find her.

Destination: New York. _Home_ , a voice whispers in his head.

If what he saw at the Smithsonian is to be believed, he's heading back to where it all started.

* * *

 _A/N: Team dynamics with an overworked and underpaid Maria Hill. If you can't already tell, I love Maria and Tony together. And Bucky's getting centerstage soon._


	17. Chapter 17

_Author's notes: I intended for this to be a 10-chapter story, maybe 15 tops. But hey, we're at 17 now and I honestly have no idea how many more are to come. I don't know when I'd be able to put the next chapter up but I finished this early so here it is anyway._

* * *

On Maria's first night as an official resident at the tower, she keeps getting interrupted from her work when she receives a number of housewarming presents.

First of which is a genetically enhanced cactus that can withstand the worst of conditions from Dr. Banner and she has yet to decide whether to feel offended or touched. She _would_ remember to water it if her job didn't require too much out of her; and that wasn't even counting the days she wasn't around. She appreciates the thought anyway.

Natasha broke into her unit just because she can and stocked her liquor cabinet with her favorite vodka, Maria's choice of whiskey, and a number of perfectly aged wines. She's sure they'd be making a huge dent out of her newly-stocked collection soon, definitely with Clint's help.

And speak of the devil, he also broke in earlier that day but apparently decided his company – particularly his sprawled, snoring form on her couch – was enough of a housewarming present. Only upon his departure did Maria notice the ancient-looking arrow – a simpler yet bigger version of the one Natasha had around her neck – he'd perched just above the clock. She smiled as she thought of what his gift meant – a remembrance whenever she looks up to check the time and a reassurance of his presence in what could arguably be called her home away from home.

Tony, with JARVIS' regular reminders, hasn't stopped feeding her and Milkshake, who has become fast friends with the soft, gray settee that Maria strategically placed to give the best view out of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Maria would've been put off by being treated like a child if she hadn't figured out that the AI kept up with what has become tradition to ensure that Tony himself actually remembered to eat.

Thor had just returned from Asgard and, as promised, brought something back for her – a dagger that could cut through any metal (although Vibranium might be out of the question). It was formerly brandished by the greatest warrior he has ever known, who happens to be one of his best friends and who, upon hearing of Maria's knife-throwing skills from Thor himself, made him promise to introduce her and Maria on her next visit to Midgard. Maria thinks she'd really like Lady Sif as she traces the intricate carvings on the dagger's hilt with her fingers.

That makes five for six. The knock on her door tells her she's about to receive the sixth. Standing outside her door is Steve Rogers with a flat, rectangular package in his hands.

"I, uh, wasn't sure what to get you," he starts while scratching nervously at his nape before extending the package to her. "I hope you like it."

Maria tilts her head in consideration as she accepts said package and steps aside. "Would you like to come in?"

They settle down on opposite ends of the couch, waiting for the pot of coffee she had just put on. She opens the package to reveal a framed artwork, particularly the one she saw in his apartment.

"I couldn't decide which one to give you but you seemed to like this one. It wasn't done when you first saw it; I couldn't finish it without the right shade of blue for your uniform."

"It's beautiful, Steve. Thank you," she runs her fingertips over the lines of the drawing. "Is this…how you see me?"

He blinks then nods, "As _Agent Hill_ , yes. And I think it's how everyone else should see you. You do so much for so many people, for the world. I know you don't do your job for recognition but a lot of what you do goes unnoticed and unappreciated. This is to remind you that Agent Hill is a hero in someone's eyes."

Wide eyes flick all over his face in search of _something_ but she only shakes her head. "You are…unbelievable."

"As _Maria_ ," he adds quietly and shifts a little closer to her to snap a lock on one side of the frame, opening it to show another drawing conveniently hidden by the back of the frame. It was a very detailed version of the one he quickly sketched in a café by the street in Wheaton when she rode past him on a bicycle. " _This_ is how I see you."

She's in a white sleeveless sundress with blue accents that brings out her eyes. Her dark hair is up in a messy ponytail, considerably longer than her current hairdo. The shorter strands that escaped the hold of the ponytail were whipping in the wind, behind her and around her neck and shoulders. Although she isn't quite smiling, the corners of her lips are slightly curled up, her eyes are sparkling, and she looks so content.

"Or how I always _want_ to see you. Happy and carefree, even if it's not with me or because of me."

She knows it wasn't his intention but she feels a slight ache inside her chest. "Steve, we talked about this."

"I know," he reassures her with a smile. "I didn't mean to pressure you or anything. I just meant that I want to see you happy. If there is no direct reason for that feeling, then no one can take it away. Does that make sense?"

If no one knows your weakness, no one can use it against you.

Naturally, she answers, "Yes." She gestures towards the kitchen where the beep has just gone off. "Thank you for the gift; it really is beautiful. I must've asked you this before but, have you ever considered a career in art?" She teases, moving to prepare their coffees.

"If this avenging thing doesn't pan out, I could consider it again," he responds lightly at first but then he remembers himself as a young aspiring artist. "I might actually get to go to art school like I initially planned before the war."

"You could still do that, you know, now," she raises an eyebrow on her way back to her living room.

"In case you forgot, _Agent Hill_ , I have more pressing duties to fulfill." He nods his thanks for the cup of coffee she hands him.

"And in case _you_ forgot, I'm your liaison now; I know your schedule. You're _on call_ 24/7, not _on duty_ 24/7."

He studies her for a while before asking, "You really want me to do this, don't you?"

She shrugs, settling back down on the couch with her legs tucked under her. "I know _you_ wanted it before. And you still do. And maybe having a hobby would be good for you."

He hums. "What about you? Any hobbies?"

"I don't have time for hobbies. Unlike you, I'm on duty 24/7."

He sips his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. "You're not on duty now."

"Guess again, Milkshake," she raises the open tablet from the coffee table just as her cat climbs up the couch and onto her lap.

Steve feels warmth spreading throughout his chest and it's not because of the coffee. She had just called him by the silly nickname she gave him during their time together. And if he thought for one second that that name hadn't meant much, the living, breathing proof of the opposite was lying curled up on her lap; more specifically, on top of her tablet.

"Looks like he doesn't like it when you work during Milkshake time."

"Milkshake time?" Amusement plays over her features, especially upon noticing the slight blush he's sporting. Just then, an alarm of sorts blares from the tablet scaring her cat off of it.

"What is it?"

"Conference call. I need to take this," she picks up an earpiece from the table. "Actually, this might take a while. Would you mind taking him for the night?"

"Of course not," comes his immediate response as he scoops the little guy up onto his shoulder.

"He has a ready bag in the coat closet by the door. Thanks, Steve," she touches his forearm on her way to what he assumes is her study.

He glances sideways at the cat settled on one of his shoulders as he slings the ready bag on the other. "Looks like Milkshake time is a go."

 **\- x -**

If Maria were the type to pray, she would do so nonstop just to keep the World Security Council off SHIELD's ass – hers and Fury's in particular. Most of the time, they went after Fury. But this time…

"Agent Hill, have you thought of ways to keep the Avengers in check?"

And while she was aware that a huge bulk of her job description does depend on how well she can manipulate the political field, she hated how the Council was all about the politics. _Only_ politics. Without regard for the consequences of their orders, they easily write off deaths and destruction of infrastructure as collateral damage if it benefits them and makes them look good. And the moment they fuck up, they play the blame game and point the finger at the easiest targets.

"I have them working on team dynamics. Mr. Stark has had multiple simulations planned and carried out during training sessions to see which pairs are a possibility and/or a priority on the battlefield. The simulations also allow them to anticipate and prepare for any attacks on potential weaknesses for the team. It has been reiterated that the goal while stopping an enemy's attack is to do so with the least amount of casualties and damages." She takes a deep breath and braces herself for the barrage of self-righteous comments.

"And what about the Battle of New York?"

"Their actions had consequences and they must be held responsible."

"The lack of intent to level a city doesn't excuse the fact that they almost did it."

Maria's lips curl up in a bitter smile. "I'm well-aware of how much destruction they can unleash on our planet. The Battle of New York, however, was not within their control. It was a war between worlds and there wasn't much they could've done but fight. There were bound to be casualties. But during war, you protect your people; you don't sacrifice them." And she _knows_ war; she's fought in her fair share of it back when she was a Marine. _Leave no [one] behind._

At their collective silence, she continues, "Any damages left by the Avengers' actions still prove far less alarming than if Iron Man hadn't risked his own life by flying off into space to keep a nuclear strike – one that _you_ had ordered and with _intent_ , might I remind you – from actually wiping out the entire city and its citizens much faster than the Chitauri ever could."

"As much as I hate to admit how vulnerable our own security is," she pauses and looks at each of the members of the Council to punctuate her point. "The Avengers are the reason Manhattan—hell, New York still exists, the reason we are all still alive, and the reason an alien invasion was put to an end before it could truly begin."

At that, the Council members mutter their farewells and sign off, looking properly chastised.

"Spoken like a true groupie," Fury teases despite his stoic expression. He refuses to show her how proud of her he was at the moment because he doesn't want to let it get to her head even if he knows it never will. Instead, he simply says, "Good work. I hadn't even had to convince them. Or you, for that matter."

"You made them my responsibility. I wasn't about to let the politics of a handful of privileged, pompous hypocrites dictate how they function."

He puffs his chest. Yes, he was a damn proud papa bear.

 **\- x -**

Ever since Maria started working from the tower – no urgent matters have required her presence more than through a holo screen – along with the lack of missions requiring her special skill set, Natasha has had her days freed up. That is not to say that these downtimes leave her rusty; certainly not when she notices a tail less than half an hour into her walk.

It was a cloudy day with a forecast of heavy rainfall in the late afternoon. But with no one to bug or play fun pranks on – or with, since Clint was away on official SHIELD business, her boredom finally pushed her to practice her acting skills by taking a walk as any normal, uncomplicated woman would while changing her persona every third street. Alas.

Her tail was good. It's been an hour since she's noticed him but that's all she could say for certain – that it is a man. Not even her attempt at seeing his reflection on a mirror had worked. He was better than good. And she liked it. Maybe this day wouldn't be boring after all.

She stops by a hole in the wall and relaxes for a bit, waiting him out. Having previously cased all the cameras and every possible exit strategy from the last time she visited the place, she sits with her back against a corner of the establishment and sips on freshly-brewed iced tea.

When her meal arrives, she whips her phone out and sends a quick message to Maria. "What would a spider look like with a tail?"

She inconspicuously scouts out the rest of the customers. Since she had entered, three other men have arrived a few minutes apart from each other. The first one sat at the far end of the bar. He had a cap on that was hanging low enough to hide most of his face but his body language suggested he was tense and nervous, not to mention the loose sweater he was wearing could just as easily hide a weapon.

The second one, who was closer to her from his seat in the middle of the bar, had nothing obscuring his features except for the shoulder-length hair that covers the part of his face visible from Natasha's angle. He seemed relaxed as he chatted briefly with the bartender. Plus, his leather jacket was hanging open so if he was carrying, the bartender must've already been alerted but he wasn't.

The third one was in a dark hoodie but he sat down facing her so his face was in full view. He slouched on his chair with his eyes closed and his head leaning on the back of his chair. He looked like he was either a druggie coming down from his most recent high or a college student recovering from sleep-deprivation. Or both, considering he hadn't even ordered and yet he's already snoring rather loudly.

She soon receives a reply. " _Like it would fall off soon. Stay dry unless you want to bathe in the rain._ "

And true enough, as she finishes her meal, the sky opens up. She's never had anything against the rain. If anything, she loves working under it because it makes post-mission clean-up a lot easier for her and hell for whichever agency handles the case.

Another message follows shortly. " _Be careful._ "

The door opens just as she collects her belongings. She looks up and sees a young woman – a college student, maybe – with eyeglasses shaking out her umbrella before leaving it on the rack just outside. She looks nervous as she briefly takes in the establishment, more specifically the men sitting alone, and smiles as she spots the guy in the sweater. Upon approaching said guy, Natasha overhears their conversation.

"Jimmy?"

"Sara!" With the nervous expression still on his face, the man stands up and takes off his cap as he goes to give the woman a quick hug. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Me too. Sorry I was late; the rain just made traffic worse." She takes the stool next to him. "You said you fixed it. Did you bring it?" She asks quietly, just above a whisper.

"Of course," he answers, pulling something out from under his sweater. Natasha catches a glimpse of it on her way out; it was a gaming console and she resists the urge to roll her eyes at the resulting squeal she hears.

That leaves the one in the leather jacket. She slows her stride on the street and listens for the opening of the door. When it does, she turns a corner into a much busier street, quickly and stealthily climbing the fire escape behind the obnoxious sign and neon lights of one of the stores. She sees her tail turn the corner, discreetly scouting for her whereabouts under the pouring rain.

To an average person, he would like he was merely searching for a place to wait the rain out as it was pelting on his slouched shoulders. She couldn't see his face what with his now-drenched hair obscuring his features yet again but she was sure he was cursing her right now. Gone was the relaxed demeanor he had back at the restaurant and in its place, tension and possibly annoyance at having been played. He walks briskly to the alley behind the building she was hiding in to get away from the rain and regroup.

Luckily, for her, the fire escape extended all the way back and made no sound audible above the pattering rain as she made her way to and above him. Her vantage allows her to get the jump on him, sending him crashing into a dumpster but he recovers quickly and the two of them have it out. A few punches and kicks in, however, she notices that he was favoring his right side and that his left arm seemed a bit stiff so naturally, she targets what she perceives as his weakness. When the opportunity comes, she attempts to pull his left arm into a lock to break it but the usually effortless move ends up backfiring horribly when she feels him literally shake her off. She tries to grab at his arm where his jacket has ridden up, digging her nails into the flesh but her hand slides right off, probably chipping a nail or two before she hits the wall.

He's standing over her when she recovers from the impact of the wall and ground. She expects him to pounce on her but he doesn't. With his wet hair sticking all over his face, obscuring it from her sight, he stares right at her with wide eyes.

"I… I know you."

 _What the hell?_ She thinks just before she kicks hard at the side of his knee, the pain causing him to lose his balance and fall forwards. He manages to brace himself on his arms but she scrambles up then twists his knee as she forces him further down. He turns his face sideways as she digs her own knee down onto his neck. And when he finally turns his head enough to look at her, her tight grip on his leg slackens a bit, but he doesn't do anything more than pull his leg out from her hold.

"James?"

At the mention of the only name she's ever called him, everything falls into place. He _did_ know her. And he knew her well. He knew her at a time when he was a ghost with no identity except for the one his captors gave him. She breathed life into him when she herself was barely hanging onto hers. And that feeling had always been something not even Hydra's repetitive brainwashing techniques could take away from him.

"Natalia."

 _A long time ago, Natalia Romanova made me remember what it was to be human._

* * *

 _A/N:_ _So we got Captain Hill, Milkshake time, BAMF Maria and Natasha, proud papa bear Fury, a bit of BuckyNat (I can't promise to keep this up tho even if it's my #2 hetero Marvel ship), and the preview of more Bucky to come. All in all a chapter I'm kinda proud of so I hope you enjoyed it._

 _More notes:_

 _1) I started this story with only Captain Hill in mind and with no particular plot in place. But as you can see, it's grown into something else entirely. I'll make sure Maria remains integral in every twist and turn but romance might take a backseat, the same way it has so far in this story._

 _2) I wasn't kidding when I said I have an ending in mind and that it's just a matter of getting there. But with the way things are going, I won't be surprised if that changes too._

 _3) Oh, and in the following chapters, especially for the Bucky fans, please keep not only an open mind but also an open heart._


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's Notes: I forgot to mention this last update: Any dialogue you might recognize is from the MCU and text in pure italics is from the comic universe, like this one, "A long time ago Natalia Romanova made me remember what it was to be human."_

* * *

 _"James?"_

 _At the mention of the only name she's ever called him, everything falls into place. He did know her. He knew her well. He knew her at a time when he was a ghost with no identity except for the one his captors gave him. She breathed life into him when she herself was barely hanging onto hers. And that feeling had always been something not even Hydra's multiple, repetitive brainwashing techniques could take away from him._

 _"Natalia."_

 _A long time ago, Natalia Romanova made me remember what it was to be human._

"Why were you tailing me?" She tenses all of a sudden and backs away from him, anticipating any move he might make. "Were you sent to kill me?"

He shakes his head as he pulls himself up enough to limp sideways, settling tiredly on the concrete and leaning back against the wall. He closes his eyes as his head tips back to feel the cool air and the now light rain coming down on his face.

"You are not my mission, Natalia. No more missions."

She eases up her stance and observes him from a few feet away. Considering the last encounter she'd had with him nearly a decade ago proved he had no recollection of her and their time together – it was far from friendly as he had shot right through her hip to kill the target she had been protecting – she had to wonder, "How did you escape? And why do you remember me now?"

"I don't know how but with every wipe, I started to regain bits and pieces of my memories. Maybe whatever version of the serum they gave me repaired my brain quicker than they realized. Or maybe I developed a tolerance to the procedure. I really don't know."

The raw vulnerability in his expression was one she had grown familiar with despite how brief their time together at the KGB had been. She had become a different person now from what she was back then and she was certain that the man before her has gone through too much to still be the James she knew. But she had always been a good judge of character and right now she could tell that while he may be struggling, he was sincere. It has her stepping closer and settling down next to him, a mere foot away.

He turns his head to face her. "I didn't know who you were. I just remember how you changed me. It's one of the strongest memories I have. It kept resurfacing with every wipe and I clung to it desperately. You reminded me how to think for myself, how to feel. You made me realize that I was more than the machine they made me into, that I was human. And for that, I am forever grateful."

She gives him a slight smile and tips her head back the way he did earlier, welcoming the onslaught of light rain on her features. He mirrors her and for a long while, they stay silent.

"You can thank me by calling me Natasha." She feels his gaze on her so she turns to him. "Natalia died a long time ago when I left that life behind. SHIELD gave me a new identity, a new life. And now I'm—"

"You're an Avenger. Pretty big leap from when I knew you, Talia." He winces at the admonishing stare she gives him. "Natasha, right. Sorry, old habits."

"Why were you tailing me?"

"I saw you in the media coverage of the Battle of New York. I couldn't find a photo of your face but your hair… It's like I knew you but I couldn't remember. And I _had to_ remember."

"So you tracked me down to the Avengers Tower," she nods. "And now that you remember?"

"You're not the only reason I went there. But I wasn't sure how to deal with Steve so I came to you first."

"Steve?" And just like that, the tension comes back to her. "Steve Rogers?"

'Yeah, Captain America."

It doesn't take her long to put two and two together. _James_ was Maria's tail. And now her comment about the masked man not bleeding made sense; the arm she had stabbed with her knife was made of metal. "What do you want from him?"

He notices the shift in her tone and posture so he quickly tries to placate her. "Nothing bad, I assure you." And he briefly turns away from her – a show of trust she doesn't take lightly – and digs his palms into his eyes as he takes a deep breath. "I couldn't remember anything from my life before…all this. Hell, I couldn't remember my mother's name but I remember that punk."

 _That punk?_

"I don't know how to face him." He shakes his head. "Steve's always been perfect for what Captain America represents. Even back when he was 90lbs. soaking wet, he stood for what was right and just. When I found out he was still alive, I was glad because this world is a much better place with him in it. But I couldn't stop the guilt and shame I felt and still feel over everything I'd done. I don't know how to face him, Talia." He doesn't even notice his slip but Natasha lets it slide at the anguished tone of his voice. "I couldn't. He'll never forgive me."

Natasha studies him for a while trying to makes sense out of this puzzle that is _James_. She has an idea but she has yet to confirm it. "I'm not sure about who you are—or were—in Steve's life before but you need to give him more credit. I won't claim to know him inside and out but I know him well enough to see that he doesn't judge people for their past." She looks at him pointedly to get her point across. "He's more than willing to give people a second chance because he wants to get to know them for who they really are. Give yourself some credit too; who you are is so much more than what they made you. Trust me, I know."

He watches as she stands up and pulls at her ruined clothes. The Black Widow has been known for many things, one of them deception. She can lie to anyone about anything at any given time. But to him, she's only ever been Natalia—Natasha now—and she had never given him a reason to doubt her.

"Okay," he answers, quietly but firmly.

"If you're not ready, you can come back another time. But if you are, you can see him now." At his slight panic, Natasha teases, "I'll even hold your hand if you're too chicken."

He pulls himself up and starts walking with a slight limp beside her. "Very funny, Tasha."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"Just don't or I will drop you from the top of the Tower."

And he doesn't doubt for one second that she will, so he grins, "Noted."

 **\- x -**

When they get to the tower, Natasha asks JARVIS to gather the team in the common room and the AI responds in the affirmative, much to Bucky's almost childlike amazement as he looks up at nothing in particular. For a brief moment, he's reminded of being at the Stark Expo, dragging an uninterested Steve and two beautiful dames to admire Howard Stark's attempt at building a flying car.

"They are on their way, Ms. Romanoff. Mr. Stark is still in his workshop and has asked to inform you that he will be late for he is need of a shower."

"Did DUM-E spray him with the fire extinguisher again?" Natasha's amusement is clear not only in her expression but in the soft tone of her voice.

"Without the danger of fire, yes." Bucky swears the AI's voice also exhibits amusement but he isn't sure how. "Mr. Stark has threatened to send him to the local community college. Again."

Bucky watches Natasha shake her head with a smile as the disembodied voice informs them of the genius' latest shenanigans. He feels a pang in his chest for the guilt and remorse festering just under his skin, a familiar feeling that almost consumes him at the remembrance of a rather dark, fateful night when he once again lost a part of himself without his knowledge. This is a stranger and yet he carried not only the name but also the face of a different man, a friend – one he lost at his own hands.

Before he could dwell further into his own misery, the elevator doors open to reveal a small gathering of people. The moment his gaze lands on a familiar face and locks with blue eyes he knows better than the back of his own hand, he freezes. And after what feels like a lifetime of silence—

"Bucky?"

And Natasha's suspicions just got confirmation.

"Hey, punk," Bucky greets shyly. As elated as he is to finally be with his best buddy, he isn't sure how his resurrection, for lack of a better term, would be received.

"Well, I'll be…" Tony absently mutters as he slowly stands up.

Natasha, who is standing right beside the man in question, feels more than sees just how rigid and tense Bucky's body has become in response to Tony's comment so she chances a glance at his face but it betrays nothing. Even his eyes are blank.

Maria tenses as well but for an entirely different reason. "You?" Her hand automatically reaches for her side arm but meets air. She's in a dress at the Avengers common room so her piece and her knife – her usual one, not the Asgardian one – are holstered on her thigh. She frowns when she notices Natasha step forward, her body language unmistakably protective, so she directs her statement at her friend. "Explain. Now."

"He was an assassin like me. But he's defected." Natasha starts and for emphasis, especially given Maria's raised eyebrow, she adds, "Like me."

"Your appearance suggests otherwise." Maria crosses her arms and turns her gaze to the man who was apparently supposed to be Steve's best friend. "And I'm sorry but I don't go around forgiving people who throw me against a wall like a ragdoll." Bucky winces.

"Ooh, tell me more of this…rough encounter." Tony grins but it doesn't meet his eyes, masking his worry with a joke. He steps closer to Maria so they were shoulder to shoulder, ignoring the huff he hears from the woman beside him.

"He did that to me too and I kicked his ass for that one," Natasha smirks. "But that was before I recognized him."

"And before I remembered her," Bucky adds then turns to Maria. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. I just needed to make sure you weren't a danger to Steve."

"You couldn't have asked?"

"I did."

"Yeah, _after_ you opened my car like it was a can of tuna, threw me against the wall like a ragdoll, and then choked me to near death."

"Uh huh, _after_ you shot at me," Bucky counters and crosses his arms, the damage Maria's knife left to it causing his posture to slacken a bit and making his arm look a little awkward. "Caught three, thank you very much."

Maria remains unapologetic. " _After_ you tailed me."

" _After_ you left Steve's apartment the morning after."

"Whoa!" Tony exclaims. "I knew it!"

"Oh," Pepper's hand shoots up to cover her mouth, finally realizing that maybe Tony's incessant teasing had merit after all. Bruce stays silent, hiding his smile behind his cup of tea.

"The morning after what?" Natasha asks, joining in the teasing as her curiosity won over.

Maria groans, "The funeral. The morning after Phil's funeral."

"Well, that explains the walk of shame and the cuts and bruises that day," Natasha purses her lips and hits Bucky upside his head.

"Hey!"

"Children, behave!" Pepper intervenes and she couldn't help thinking that a supposed assassin pouting like 10-year-old makes for a rather disturbing image, especially since said assassin has metal on his arm where flesh and bone should be.

And for the first time since uttering Bucky's name, Steve finally remembers how to move, how to _breathe._ He gives his best friend a hug that takes the other man by surprise so much that he wasn't able to return it by the time Steve pulls away. "I can't believe it's really you," he says, cupping both of Bucky's cheeks. "I still wouldn't have if you hadn't started behaving like a jerk."

Bucky's wide eyes slowly crinkle at the corners before he pulls Steve back in for another hug. "Punk," he whispers.

The rest of the occupants look away from the reunion feeling like they were intruding. They move away, relaxing into their chosen spots around the common room. All except Maria. She moves a considerable distance away from them but stays within earshot. While she's inclined to trust in the others' instincts and judgment, she hadn't gotten to where she was today by being complacent.

A tiny part of her is unreasonably relieved when she hears Steve admonish his buddy. "You shouldn't have done that to Maria. Or Natasha." At the first sign of Bucky's protest, Steve continues, "I get that you're trying to protect me, Buck. But you can't go around attacking anyone you think might be an enemy."

"Not to sound defensive, but they attacked me first." The moment Steve opens his mouth to protest, Bucky raises a hand in a placating gesture. "I know, Steve. I know that doesn't mean anything. My mind was a mess; it still is. But I just had to be sure, so I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time." Bucky sighs. "It was a good thing I recognized her though, or I might not have stopped."

Maria turns back to the duo, unable to stay out of the conversation for any longer. "My hair was longer," she says and they both turn to her. "You recognized me from when my hair was longer."

"Yes. That's when I realized you were Steve's…" Bucky pauses and glances at Steve before turning back to the woman Steve referred to as 'Maria'. " _Friend_."

Steve's brows furrow. "How did you—"

"You were in Wheaton," Maria surmises and relaxes minutely when she's given confirmation with a single nod. "Why?"

Bucky opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He isn't sure how to explain it to them but he tries anyway. "I don't know how but with every wipe, I started to regain bits and pieces of my memories."

"Wipe?"

"Brainwashing," Natasha explains and it has shock painted on Steve's face before distorting into what could only be described as anguish for what his best friend went through while he mourned his death, while he was frozen, while he was _safe_.

Bucky clears his throat and avoids Steve's gaze. "Like I told Natal—Natasha, maybe whatever version of the serum they gave me repaired my brain quicker than they realized. Or maybe I'd developed a tolerance to the procedure, I really don't know. But it happened and I got out. So when I wasn't looking for Steve, I was shutting down Hydra cells like the one in Wheaton." He pauses at this, addressing Maria. "Eriksen wasn't working alone. Like me, he was just one of the pawns in Hydra's game."

"H—Hydra?" Steve has always worn his heart on his sleeve and right now, every single occupant of the room is made privy to the shock and disappointment dawning on him. It seems he and many others – Bucky included – had given their lives for _nothing._

He nods. "When _Natasha_ and I first met, I was on loan to the KGB from Hydra." The others turn to Natasha at the revelation of her yet uncertain past with him. In an effort to keep unnecessary pressure from Natasha, Bucky continues, "I've been to the Smithsonian and I'm sorry, Stevie, but what they say about Captain America defeating Hydra is not the whole truth. They like to say, 'Cut off one head and two more shall take its place.' When they regrouped, they went under – underground and undercover." He pauses to let them absorb what he just revealed and then to Maria, he asks, "You run SHIELD?"

"No, I'm—"

"She does." Tony interjects. "She practically runs the world. But wait, what was in Wheaton?"

Bucky flinches minutely the moment Tony speaks, not to mention he couldn't even look the genius in the eye. Maria and Natasha notice. Steve would have too if he wasn't still so winded by the fact that his best friend was alive and well, considering, and apparently so was Hydra.

"Human experimentation gone wrong," Natasha dismissively answers.

Tony scoffs, "When has that ever gone right?"

"Project REBIRTH," Maria answers, eyeing Steve as her mind connects all the dots – human experimentation, Hydra, the failed extraction of Captain America…

Steve meets Maria's gaze the moment it clicks for him. "They're trying to recreate it."

"So why SHIELD?" Natasha asks.

"Because Carter, Phillips, and…" Bucky trails off.

"And Stark," Maria finishes for him. "Old SSR files."

"Oh my god, does that mean they're in Stark Industries too?" Pepper interjects, her worry now more pronounced.

"No. REBIRTH was an SSR project and paperwork of any kind would've stayed within SSR jurisdiction. Stark Industries posed no threat."

"Please. If dear old dad was anything like me, he would've had his own copies of it. Maybe even some of Cap's blood." (Note: In _Agent Carter_ , it was revealed that Howard _did_ have a vial of Steve's blood – a vial that Jarvis later stole from him to give to Peggy.)

"Everything was on paper back then, Tony. No hacking." Natasha reminds him and almost smiles when he mimes gagging.

Nonetheless, Bucky clears his throat and continues, "There are several well-placed moles. I don't know all of them but I'm sure of a few, some of them high up the food chain."

Maria straightens her spine and says the one name she's certain has to be tangled in with this whole mess. "Rumlow."

Bucky's eyes widen a fraction, half-surprised and half-impressed by the revelation that SHIELD's already begun seeking out weeds. He nods, "And the whole crew he runs with."

"I knew it," Maria hisses then glances at Natasha. She and Clint had checked all the members of the STRIKE team. And while they were suspicious, neither spy could collect any concrete evidence to connect them to a specific agency. Saying STRIKE was careful was an understatement; they were organized and meticulous.

"There's more." When all attention returns to him, he says, "Your leader."

"Fury?!" Steve speaks for the first time, disbelief and rage beginning to color his features. The way he gravitates towards Maria is not lost on all those present in the room.

"No." Bucky takes a deep breath to calm himself because this name and the face that comes with it, he knows intimately. And he remembers every word, spit, and slap that son of a bitch added to his torture. "Alexander Pierce."

Maria fails to conceal her surprise when she involuntarily takes a step back, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. She had just had a conference call with the man the other night. He is part of the World Security Council. And Fury would never admit it but she knows he looks up to Pierce. "Are you sure?"

When Bucky's eyes meet Maria's, she has to fight the burning urge to look away from his intense, steely gaze. "I see his face clearly every time I close my eyes. I could never forget it," he finishes with a snarl.

Maria holds his steady gaze and then nods. "Anything more?"

Bucky begins to shake his head but instead jerks with a slight tilt of his head. "They have another backer. He isn't as involved but he's rich enough to have his name mentioned with reverence even in his absence."

"Who?"

"Gideon Malick."

Maria's eyes close as she takes a deep breath. Hydra doesn't only have the advantage of existing and _growing_ right under their noses; it also has the influence of supposed political heroes and the support of pockets deep enough to sustain countries. This was a disaster waiting to happen – one that's home-grown – and Maria isn't quite sure if that's more reassuring than another alien attack. But she's dedicated her life to world security so that's what she'll work towards. She'll give her life if it means Earth and humanity remain secure, even if it seems like an uphill battle where humanity causes its own destruction.

"If you remember anything else, come to me. Anytime."

* * *

 _A/N:_ _Malick was mentioned, yes, but I won't be including the Hive here and the Ward thing will be dealt with behind the scenes. Sorry._

 _Thoughts?_


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's Notes: This chapter's pretty long and I've been itching to post it since I finished it but I couldn't without proofreading it once. You'll probably get some hints at part of my plan for Bucky and I'm not sure if you'll love or hate it (or me, for it) but I'd really be interested in hearing about your thoughts._

* * *

Maria passes on the intel from Sergeant Barnes to Fury. They agree that he and Clint – once he's back from his current mission – would stay at HQ to try to weed out any further moles. The rest of them have taken a short break to allow Bucky a few minutes of reprieve, and even a few minutes of much-needed, albeit awkward catching up with Steve, before reconvening at the common room.

"I started to remember more and more. Most memories are…fragmented at best but… One mission had gone longer than planned. They got careless, let me stay out of the ice without wiping me to get the job done. So when I was lucid enough as…" Bucky trails off. As what, he wasn't sure. To say he was lucid enough as _himself_ seemed much like a stretch. "When I was lucid enough, I split," he says instead. "They had contingencies in place though." _I almost gave up, gave in to the pain._

Steve frowns. "Contingencies?"

"They had triggers set in the arm that activated the moment they realized I'd fled. Some of them were wired so deeply, they linked into my nerves."

"You mean you've been hurting since you escaped?" Steve face falls as his body tenses up, so taut it just might snap.

Bucky ducks his head and mutters, "I'm used to it."

"I can have you scanned to look for all the triggers. I don't do surgeries, but if they're simply wired into your arm, I can handle them."

Bucky pauses, a specific memory coming to the fore the minute Tony Stark speaks. He wills it away in lieu of asking, "Why would you help me?"

Tony blinks. "Because I know what it's like to be used." Bucky looks at him with an expression he couldn't read but definitely leaves him uncomfortable so he changes tactics. Gesturing to Bucky's left arm just as Maria reenters the room, Tony asks, "What's wrong with it?"

"I dug out the trackers they put inside." Bucky's lips curl up at the corner as he adds, "And then someone did a number on it with a knife."

"Your guilt trip won't work on me, Barnes. You did try to kill me."

"I had no intention of killing you, doll. Otherwise, you'd've been dead right then. 'Sides, I couldn't have killed you after recognizing you." Even as the words smoothly come out of his lips, he feels weird, like they were second nature yet foreign to him at the same time.

"Cute," she drawls. "But if you call me 'doll' again, you'll see what else I can do with a knife. And this time, it will be somewhere that bleeds," she threatens with eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Feisty," Bucky grins in unfettered amusement. "You really know how to pick 'em, punk. First, Carter and now—" He cuts himself off upon seeing a flushed Steve's panicked expression and not-so-subtle slicing motion of his hand by his throat to signal stop.

 **\- x -**

Later, much to everyone's relief, the scan shows no unusual implants in Bucky's body, save for those in the arm so Bucky decided to have the entire arm removed both for his and the others' safety.

Tony had offered him one of the unoccupied units in the tower but he had outright refused, saying he couldn't ask for any more of the genius' help. Tony tried to reason with him, to tell him that the offer wasn't putting anyone out and that it had no expectations tied to it, but he simply wouldn't budge. That is, until Steve raised a compromise that has his best buddy staying in the spare room in his unit.

Bucky wanders around the tower, readjusting his balance now that his left arm is all but a stump. He's mapping out all cameras – at least the visible ones, exits, and possible weapons for no other reason than habit. And he refuses to ask for help of any kind from a disembodied voice that gives him the jitters. True, he had been amazed by it earlier. He's still amazed, to be honest, but that doesn't mean he doesn't find the idea of _talking to it_ — It? He? — a little silly.

"What's your deal with Tony?"

He doesn't jump even if he was caught off guard but he does turn to the owner of the voice. "What?"

"You heard me." Natasha observes him with a curious expression but his answer sparks suspicion.

"I… I can't, Talia."

Upon seeing the expression on his face, she lets the name slide again. But she can't just let this go, not when an uncomfortable feeling unsettles her stomach. " _James_."

" _Natasha_." He shakes his head in a silent plea. With any other situation, she'd be the first one he'd approach. Maybe even more than Steve. But this time… "You'll find out after he does."

Natasha allows the moment to pass with a reluctant nod before walking away, reminding herself to keep a closer eye on him and Tony. And in his near desperation for some fresh air, he finds himself looking up.

"Uh…" His gaze slowly shifts to and from random points in the ceiling. "JARVIS?"

"How may I help you, Sergeant Barnes?"

He blinks first at the formality with which he was addressed and again at the fact that there was a response at all. "Umm…" He absently runs the palm of his remaining hand across his nape. "Where can I get some fresh air?"

"There is a balcony not far from where you stand, Sergeant. If you continue in the direction you were headed and then turn right at the end of the hall, you will find a door that leads out to it."

He nods then suddenly he isn't sure if the AI sees him so he mumbles a quick, "Thanks."

"My pleasure, Sergeant Barnes." The voice responds with a certain calm and cheer that Bucky finds a bit odd. When he takes his first steps toward said balcony, however, the AI speaks again. "A fair warning, Sergeant Barnes, if you wish to be alone, that balcony is not the place to go."

He keeps his pace as he asks, "Who else is there?"

"Agent Hill is currently at the balcony."

At this, he pauses, a slight furrow in his brow. "Agent Hill?"

"Deputy Director Maria Hill of SHIELD." Once the name registers, he just nods and continues on his way. "I have informed her of your imminent arrival, as per her standing request."

And that's how Bucky finds himself taking in the view of New York as he stands just a few feet away from Maria. A drawl of his surname is all the greeting she gives him so he gifts her with the same.

"Hill." For a long while, there is only silence. However, he could not quell the curious gossip in him that he's sure was a part of who he was back when he was younger. _Much_ younger. He also feels the need to look out for Steve, protect him; from what, he isn't sure. "So… You and Steve?"

"If you want answers, shouldn't you be talking to him?" Bucky, however, just keeps his gaze on her. When he tilts his head, it dawns on her and her lips curl up at the corner. "I'm guessing this is the part where you ask me what my intentions are."

"So you're not gonna deny it?"

"Would you believe me if I did?" Bucky only blinks in response. "Then there's no point in denying it."

"Just past?"

"Oh, like you and Nat?" Maria smirked.

If he wants to play 20 questions about her personal life, then she'll give as good as she gets. Or, more accurately as far as _intel_ is concerned, she'll get more than she'll ever give. Bucky's brow rises in silent question. And he doesn't miss how effectively evasive she's being by shifting the conversation towards him.

"I'm a trained spy. And more than that, I know Natasha. She's a master of disguise but she approaches people with suspicion. I think she's wary of you, given the circumstances of your…history and that fact that you're both very different people now compared to then. But her caution is laced with a certain kind of…concern, affection even. That, and you slipped calling her 'Talia' a couple of times and she hasn't bitten your head off."

Despite himself, Bucky lets out a chuckle. "Never would've figured you for a gossip, Hill."

"Intel," she shrugs. "Of a more personal nature, yes, but intel nonetheless."

"And it effectively shifted the focus away from you. Color me impressed." His grin slowly fades away as his expression turns serious. "But Tal— _Natasha_ is special. They always wiped me but there were times when the emotions get overwhelming. I met her when the feeling of hopelessness was threatening to overcome me. _I might have put a bullet in my brain to quiet the ghosts…if not for Natasha…_ That one _human_ connection made me see that I was more than what they made me."

He has no idea why he's sharing all of these things, and why _her_. But it seems he couldn't stop now that he's begun. "She was the only light I could hold onto before I started regaining some of my memories. And no matter how many times they wiped me, that feeling never went away; I yearned for it even when I couldn't remember what—or who—was causing it."

"You have a second chance at feeling that again, with whomever. You might not find it right away but at least you don't have to keep looking back to feel it either. I won't presume to know how you feel but I think being able to _move_ is always better than being stuck. If it's your choice to stay stuck, well, that's an entirely different matter but isn't it great to have a choice to make? To be able to choose at all? You're free now."

"You sure you're world security and not some shrink?"

"Both, actually; I charge by the hour and I like to be paid in ammo or intel." She's put on a stoic expression and intends to keep it but Bucky's hesitation has her smirking.

Bucky shakes his head then wistfully looks out over the New York skyline overcast with the warm hues of a setting sun. "I think that was the only time I've ever been in love."

"I have to say," Maria starts, her lips twitching. "That wasn't the kind of intel I was going for but go on."

Bucky raises an eyebrow and teases, "Oh, right. I'm not sure but as far as I know, _he's_ only ever been in love once before."

Maria rolls her eyes at the implication of the shift in the so-called intel he was giving her. She smiles nonetheless and quietly answers, "I know."

"He told you?"

She nods. "He said he believes it was love but that they never got to try and see what they could've been."

It takes Bucky a while to answer. "War is…never the best time to explore anything like that. Make whoopee with some pretty showgirls or hot soldiers, or even the nurse patching up your injuries; sure, I'd get behind that." He deliberately ignores Maria's pursed lips curling at the corners. His failed attempt at looking innocent answers her silent question of whether he actually _did_ get behind that and then some. "A fleeting romance, maybe, but nothing you'd want to have forever for."

She's tempted to tease him for his use of an outdated euphemism for sex but instead, she just hums. "Some would argue that it's the best time to do something reckless."

Bucky bites back a snort. "You think falling in love is reckless?"

"Isn't it?" She counters. Bucky just tilts his head with a faraway look in his eyes and she isn't sure if the gesture was in agreement, in opposition, or simply noncommittal. "In any case, I've met Director Carter. She's a force to be reckoned with; a remarkable woman, a truly brilliant agent, unwavering in her pursuit of justice, dedicated to keeping humanity safe... On top of that, she has a kind heart and a beautiful soul. What's not to love?"

"Plus, she's smokin' hot," Bucky adds and sees Maria nod. He bites his tongue to keep from commenting about how her description (and his) of Steve's first love perfectly applies to her as well.

"If she hadn't been married and on the verge of retirement upon my recruitment, I might have fallen for her too."

For the second time since he arrived at the tower, he's found himself surprised and impressed by this woman and he can't help thinking again that his best buddy really knows how to pick them. He tries to shrug, forgetting about his stump, and manages to do so awkwardly. "Even though she's a woman?"

"Your point being?" She looks at him pointedly and at his silence, she shrugs. "Women are amazing."

"I agree." A long silence falls over them before Bucky adds, "And so are men."

Maria hums again and suddenly asks, "Did we just _out_ each other?"

"Well, technically, you can't _out_ someone who wasn't hiding in the first place."

She tilts her head and just stares at him, thinking about how brave he must've been for being openly queer back then, and nods before making her way back inside. Just before the sliding doors open, she turns back to him, remembering his earlier statement to Steve. "And since we're being technical, Steve didn't pick me; _I_ picked _him_."

Bucky is left blinking at Maria's retreating form before shaking his head. The moment he found out about them, he's shed all illusions of whoever held the reigns in their relationship. He couldn't help the lopsided grin from gracing his features. "Atta boy, Stevie."

He looks back over the skyline then up at the sky as dusk falls. Pollution has made it almost impossible to see the stars in the city but it matters very little to someone who has long since memorized the constellations. So with his eyes closed, he lies down on the floor of the balcony, using his lone arm as pillow – the chill of the approaching night not posing a problem to him – and pictures the sky as he used to see it as a child.

 **\- x -**

At 4AM, Tony is the only one awake, rubbing at his eyes and dragging his feet to the elevator that would take him to the penthouse. Sleep sounded wonderful after hours spent dismantling the metal arm and finding the so-called 'contingencies' that Barnes was referring to. That was putting it mildly. Upon finding them all, Tony had realized just how heavy and painful that arm had truly been for its bearer. It was more a metal torture device that doubled as a weapon with the benefit of functioning as an actual arm.

And as JARVIS scanned its specs, Tony found himself sympathizing with and admiring the man for sticking it out all those decades and for bailing the first opportunity he could. The ordeal he had gone through in Afghanistan was hell but despite all the manipulation, he had complete control over his faculties, the car battery attached to a hole in his chest notwithstanding. He couldn't even begin to imagine how it must've been like to lose control over not only his body but also his mind.

So he'd spent the past few hours drawing up an initial design plan for a new arm – a light and simple yet strong one for the time being, just so Barnes wouldn't have to walk around with a stump. He'd work on it more after further study. He'd had way to much coffee going into this and now he can feel himself crashing so he'd decided to call it a night—or morning, especially since the arm wouldn't actually be done till noon.

"DUM-E, keep your filthy hand away from the arm. I want it clean and efficient." Indignant whirring fills his ear but he smiles and ignores the bot. "U, record this. I wanna know when to put DUM-E on a timeout."

"I'll watch over them, Sir."

"Thanks, JARVIS. Butterfingers too, 'kay?" Tony mumbles around a yawn. "I'm off to bed."

"Umm, Sir?"

"Yeah?" He leans his head back on the wall once the elevator doors close.

"It seems Sergeant Barnes prefers the balcony outside the common room more than Captain Rogers' spare room."

Tony's head snaps up. "What? He's sleeping there?" At JARVIS' affirmative response, he asks to be taken there. The doors open to dim lighting around the common room. "Why would anyone prefer to sleep there? It's cold. And the floor does nothing for your back." He absently mutters, running a hand through his already messy hair, making it stick out in several places.

When the door to the balcony slides open, he hears voices. Or, rather, _a_ voice that alternates between English and is that Russian? Calm and agitated, fragmented words and long phrases. He pauses, blinking at the sleeping form of one Bucky Barnes.

"Barnes?" Nothing. So he moves closer and sees the slight movement in the other man's body, nothing drastic, just…jerky. _Jerky?_ Spasmodic. _That's what you get from sleep-deprivation_ , he almost hears Pepper's affectionate scolding and it brings a soft smile to his face. Once he's close enough, he notices the twisting of Barnes' features so he lays a gentle hand on the man's shoulder and the twitching body immediately stills. Tony only has time to blink before he's shoved hard, punched in the jaw, and held down with a hand digging hard around his neck. And that was _without_ the metal arm, he manages to think as he struggles for breath.

"Barnes," he croaks with his fingers clawing at the hand around his neck, trying to pry it off. JARVIS' alarm system blasts through the tower the minute his back hits the floor and he's sure help will come soon but he tries to get the supersoldier to calm down anyway. He looks into the eyes above him and he would've gasped if he could at the blank, dead look in them, only a hint of anger seeping through. "Barnes, it's me. T—" He pauses, feeling his lungs burn. "Tony..." He desperately tries to suck air in. "Stark."

And just like that the hand is gone from around his neck, leaving him clutching his neck, gasping and sputtering and coughing. Barnes' eyes are now wide with shock and guilt as he frantically crawls backwards until his back collides with the ledge and rails. "I'm—I'm sorry," he says quietly, just above a whisper, before curling in on himself with his head between his knees and his lone arm resting protectively at the back of it. "I'm sorry."

Before Tony could answer, the sliding doors open to Natasha, Maria, and Steve with weapons at the ready – Bruce hovering in the common room – until they see the tableau before them. They all lower their weapons except for Maria.

"I'm sorry," comes his muffled voice again.

Natasha asks, weapon holstered but no less alert as she walks towards Tony with her eyes locked on Bucky's form. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" Tony croaks out even before she finishes her question. Natasha gives him a pointed look and he sighs, "It was an accident. I was on my way to bed, he was here, and I was going to tell him to go stay with Cap or something but… I think he was having a nightmare."

Natasha sighs, knowing how situations like that usually played out. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he answers quickly, his voice still rough. "Is he?"

"He will be." She helps him stand. "I'll go check on him. Go get some ice for that shiner." She gestures to his jaw that was already beginning to bruise.

Maria warily watches their interaction. She may have had a conversation with the man yesterday and found him more than decent but she'd be damned if she let her guard down and the Winter Soldier resurfaces. Her gun is still cocked when she feels a strong hand cover it. She turns and sees Steve's wide eyes and tilted head, almost pleading with her. She nods and clicks the safety back on before tucking it behind her on the waistband of her sleep shorts. She feels the same hand reach for hers again so she looks up.

"Thank you."

"It wasn't for him."

"I know," he squeezes her hand and smiles. It's a little tired but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

She nods and gently pulls her hand away to go to Tony. She hisses upon seeing the large bruise beginning to form on the genius' jaw. "You ok?"

"Yes, will you stop fussing?" He grumbles like a petulant child.

"I'd say I'm surprised that didn't knock you out but then I'd be lying." Upon seeing the trademark cocky grin forming on his features, she continues, "I mean, you _do_ have a hard head."

Tony scowls but they finally take notice of Bruce. "Tony, Agent Hill," he greets, making his way over to them with an ice pack in hand. He examines Tony's head and neck then gives him the ice pack. "Bruising on your jaw and neck but luckily, nothing seems to be broken."

"His ego," Maria coughs into her hand as they take their seats on the couch.

"Alright, Hill," Tony rolls his eyes. "Kick a man when he's down, will you? You know, I think I liked you better when you hated me."

Maria tilts her head as if she were contemplating something before smirking at Tony. "No, you don't."

Tony purses his lips to keep the corners of his lips from curling; he fails. Bruce sits on the coffee table in front of Tony and brings out his pen light. "You probably hit your head pretty hard out there. I need to make sure there's no lasting damage."

"Et tu, Bruce?" Tony mocks offense, his free hand now resting on his glowing chest. "My own science bro betrayed me. What has the world come to?" His dramatics make Maria and Bruce smile and roll their eyes fondly.

Outside, Steve wants to go hug and comfort his buddy but Natasha approached him first.

"James?" She sits beside Bucky, facing him from about a foot's distance.

"I didn't mean to do it." His voice is still muffled as he gently rocks himself and Natasha only manages to hear and understand him because she was close enough.

"I know," she says solemnly. "He's alright though, and he doesn't blame you."

Bucky finally raises his head but his gaze remains unfocused. "He should."

Natasha's brows furrow. She has yet to figure out what it is about Tony that has Bucky on edge but she knows poking and prodding would get her nowhere. "Why don't you get some rest? You're staying with Steve, right?"

At Bucky's nod, Steve moves closer. "Come on, Bucky," he gently coaxes.

With a hand on Bucky's shoulder, she says, "Sleep, James. We'll talk in the morning."

Later, Bucky lies awake in bed, unable to fall back asleep. Unable to even look Steve in the eye from shame so he'd gone straight to bed before any words could even come out of the punk's mouth.

It wasn't even a violent nightmare, per se. But the phantom feeling of his arm, gone now and replaced by a stump, had him feeling so lost and so furious. He doesn't even remember what it was like to have flesh that concealed sensitive nerve endings. The metal arm allowed him to _feel_ but only to a certain extent – enough to be efficient for optimum performance, enough to be obedient from a promise of pain and punishment always present in the almost-inaudible hum of machinery.

His mind keeps on replaying the events of an hour ago and the thought that he could've killed him _again_ if he hadn't suddenly remembered himself eats at him.

He stares blankly at the ceiling as he waits for the sunlight, having decided to atone for his sins even if he doesn't deserve Tony Stark's forgiveness. Or Steve's.

 **\- x -**

"Why are you helping me?"

Tony gives Bucky a look that tells him his question was absurd. "I told you, I know what it's like to be used, manipulated even by the people you trust." As his mind flashes back to Yinsen, Afghanistan, Stane, and palladium poisoning, he absently rubs at the glowing area in his chest – the one Bucky had noted the moment he laid eyes on the man but his face, the one that riddled him with nightmares, had him stepping back and holding in his curiosity – and Bucky isn't even sure Tony knows he's doing it.

"I was beyond help. I actually thought I was gonna die out there and no one would be the wiser, not that anyone would care. But they did," he looks back up at Bucky, smiling at the memory of Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy standing by him through the whole ordeal; even JARVIS' warm welcome home.

"They cared, they forgave, and they helped. So I'm helping you because you need my help. And because you're you," he simply answers. He's known everything the Smithsonian has on Captain America and the Howling Commandos since he was old enough to read. He also has second-hand knowledge of who they were as real people from all the stories his Aunt Peggy had riddled him with about his childhood hero and his friends. "Plus, you're Capsicle's best friend and you knew my Aunt Peggy; that's reason enough for me."

"Aunt Peggy?" Bucky speaks up for the first time since he asked his question. His mind running through the haze of confusion, brows furrowing before it clicks. "Peggy as in Agent Carter?" He looks to his left where Steve nods from his comfortable perch on the couch.

"I've been visiting her since I…got out from the ice." Tony swivels in his chair when Steve speaks. Apparently, the genius had forgotten that he was there. "Sometimes I visit with Tony."

"She's still alive?" The wonder in Bucky's tone puts a smile on both the other men's faces. "She must be…what, 90?"

"Just turned 92 about a month ago, actually," Tony confirms as he turns away to attend to Mark 1 of the arm he was about to fit into Bucky's left shoulder. "She and dear old dad were close." He hadn't seen the anguish that colored the other man's eyes at the mention of his father. "They had a rather unusual friendship but they were always close. And even if Aunt Peggy never got to know you as well as she did the rest of the Howling Commandos, she knew you were special to Cap and that despite being such a ladies' man, you had a good heart."

 _Oh, if he only knew…_

"You shouldn't want to help me."

Tony glances back at him with a disapproving look once the prosthetic arm clicks into place. "Because of this?" Tony asks, pointing at his face and neck. "We've discussed this, Barnes. You were having a nightmare and I shouldn't have tried to wake you. No permanent damage, see?" He grins in an attempt at levity but it falls flat when Bucky winces at the fact that there was any damage at all and then swallows hard because damn if that smile wasn't worth every dollar the other man had. "Stop that. This wasn't your fault. And regardless, I'm helping you because I already said I would."

"But you shouldn't," Bucky insists, and this time, his voice is gruff and thick with emotion.

"Alright, I'll bite," he crosses his arms, foregoing the mechanics to face the man whose posture and body language screams defeat and despair. "Give me three good reasons not to help you."

When Bucky raises his head to meet Tony's gaze, his eyes are glazed over with a dozen emotions – most prominent of all were guilt and pain – and shining with tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. He can only give one but it was more than enough.

"December 16, 1991."

* * *

 _A/N: Cliffhanger! Anyone who hasn't watched CA: CW and wishes to remain spoiler-free would be better off taking the time between this and the next update to catch up on it. (It's been over a year since the release, ffs.)_

 _And for anyone interested, I watched Spider-Man: HoCo for the second time last night. I'm definitely biased in saying Tom's may be my favorite take on Spidey. I'd be lying if I said the connection between Peter and Tony didn't factor in because damn if dad!Tony wasn't the best. *heart eyes*_


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Notes: So I wasn't planning on including bits of Civil War here but I love pain and I couldn't pass up the angst that doing so would bring. If you're an uncompromising Team Cap stan, feel free to run along. I'm still so salty over Steve and Team Cap that I'm surprised I'm able to even continue writing this. But that's just MCU characterization which if you haven't already noticed I'm not staying wholly faithful to so expect things to play out a lot differently._

* * *

 _"Give me three good reasons not to help you."_

 _When Bucky raises his head to meet Tony's gaze, his eyes are glazed over with a dozen emotions – most prominent of all were guilt and pain – and shining with tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. He can only give one but it was more than enough._

 _"December 16, 1991."_

Steve sits up, unsure of the date's importance but sensing the rising tension, the moment he sees Tony freeze.

"What?"

Bucky doesn't repeat himself. But his eyes tell it all, a wordless confession to the people he's taken from – one, his friend, the other, his parents.

Tony is far from stupid. Those words coming from the former assassin's mouth juxtaposed with the guilt his expression suggests that he has in spades… "Tell me," he says too calmly amidst the storm raging in the depths of his dark eyes.

"It wasn't an accident." Bucky swallows, aware of what was coming the moment he confirms what Tony already knows by now, but he remains stationary, resigned and waiting for the fate he deserves. "It was me."

And all hell breaks loose.

Tony grabs the arm meant for Bucky and uses it as a weapon without regard for skill or damage, just rage. "You killed my mother!" He screams, every word accompanied by a hit.

Steve rushes over and pries the metal arm from Tony's grip but it proves worse because the genius then summons his gauntlets to him, flinging Steve across the room and gunning for the man who has yet to raise even a finger to defend himself.

"For years, I blamed my father." He grunted as he landed a few punches on the super soldier, the last one strong enough to throw the other man on the floor a few feet away. "Maybe that son of a bitch was drunk." He straddles Bucky, landing two more punches before getting manhandled by Steve.

"Tony!"

Tony struggles out of his hold but with only the suit's gauntlets, his human strength is no match. "Maybe he intentionally drove the car right into a goddamn tree to end his miserable life," he pants. " _Why_?" He shouts in desperation. "Why did you do it?"

"Please, Tony, calm down," Steve pleads, knowing how unfair he's being at the moment because he himself could feel the burning rage coursing through his veins. For what, he isn't sure. He just knows it's not for Bucky.

Bucky moves his jaw, letting the pain set in as he slowly sits up. "He had the serum in his car. They wanted it, and they wanted him out of the way."

"What about my mother?" Tony's voice is strangled at best, eyes gleaming with the tears threatening to stain his cheeks. He stops struggling, knowing it was futile.

"Leave no witnesses," he says just above a whisper but against the silence of the workshop, the shame and guilt coloring his tone might as well have been broadcasted from a microphone.

"You took the last good thing in my life! The only parent I had left," he mumbles. Jarvis had always been more of a parent than either of his biological ones. But his mother had _cared_ even if she hadn't known how to _be_ a mother. She had sung him lullabies for the first time when he was fifteen, crying himself to sleep when Jarvis had passed away about two years prior to the accident.

"What he did all those years… It wasn't him. He had no choice, Tony." Steve's voice was a mix of anguished shock and appeasing comfort as he defends his best friend. He relaxes his grip but doesn't let go and Tony uses this opportunity to elbow his jaw and escape his hold.

"Get out," Tony snarls, quietly, dangerously, with his hands up, each one poised to blast the other two men and Steve recoils. "Get out!" Tony screams, his labored breathing getting worse as he feels his surroundings smothering him. He doesn't fire, however; instead, he flings the first thing he could get his hands on – a wrench – across the room towards Steve and Bucky's general direction and the sound of glass shattering fills the silence.

The super soldiers slowly make their way out of the workshop with Steve briefly glancing back at his distraught friend, mouth opening as if to apologize but instead ducks his head. JARVIS had long since rung the alarm at the tower, alerting the rest of the Avengers, but it all happened so fast that by the time the elevator arrived at the basement where the workshop lay, both men simply entered with their heads hung low, the rest of the elevator's occupants lower their weapons, awkwardly making room for them with questioning stares.

Steve just shakes his head somberly and sighs, speaking up right before the elevator begins its ascent. "Just… Give him time. JARVIS?"

"Captain Rogers," comes the AI's flat response, devoid of its usual warmth, making it so plain and obvious that he is unhappy with the situation.

"Can you… I think he needs Pepper right now. And Colonel Rhodes."

There was a pause before JARVIS replies, "Ms. Potts is in Japan for business and Colonel Rhodes is currently on a classified mission. Notifications have been sent." Meaning there are no guarantees of _when_ either person in question would receive them.

After wreaking havoc alone in his workshop, he plops down on the floor by the couch with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He hears familiar whirring approaching slowly, almost cautiously, from his left.

"Not now, DUM-E," he says, his voice coarse and muffled. He feels a damp washcloth being gently shoved into the side of his face. He looks up and sees his first working creation offering him the washcloth for his tears, never mind that said washcloth was filthy and damp with grease. His lips twitch as he accepts the bot's offering – which is not to say he was actually going to use it to wipe his tear-stained face. That is, until he notices the red tank the bot has on the ready.

"DUM-E…" He starts with a warning tone. "Don't—" Too late. He only had time to close his eyes and mouth before getting liberally sprayed with fire extinguisher. He groans even as laughter bubbles up his chest. "I hate you," he mutters, his hand finding DUM-E's strut, pulling the bot closer in a slightly awkward but tight hug. The faint, steady hum becomes a staccato of excited beeps, turning his chuckles into a full-blown belly laugh, especially when he hears concerned clicking and beeping as he sees U approach with an offering of a blanket draped precariously over his camera and then feels Butterfingers bump repeatedly against his foot with a box of tissues just barely sliding off from atop him.

"I hate you all so much," he chokes between a laugh and a sob.

 **\- x -**

After a rather uneventful trip to the basement, Natasha follows Maria to her unit. "Fury needs me there in five days."

Fury and Clint have been flushing out moles one by one from the bottom up so as not to arouse suspicion. Maria and Nick agree that she has to remain at the tower since nothing overtly urgent has come up. It's been how they run things in the past few months and changing it drastically might raise unwanted warning bells.

"When you get there, take Sully with you. Head of Ops always knows every cadet and agent who comes and goes. Just give him the profile for Hydra agents," Maria suggests, leading the way into her study. "Sully and I both personally vetted the heads for Academy Ops and Field Ops under him so he'll know to start with them and work his way through."

Natasha nods, "All in the shadows."

"Melinda May and Akela Amador, I trust them with my life. And so did Phil. But for the purpose of being thorough, and for your own peace of mind, run them anyway," Maria pauses, contemplative. "It might not be necessary but call in Agent 13 as well. After running her, inform her of the bare minimum or more, your call. Director Carter might be in danger, especially given her connection to Steve and Tony."

She nods again then turns to leave but pauses by the door. "What about Pierce?"

"I'll deal with the Council. They have a couple of pet projects I can indulge for a little while to divert attention while delaying any of Pierce's orders and ideas. None of us can risk tipping them off, especially him and especially now that they're most likely still thrown off by Barnes' escape."

"He might actually be a good distraction for them." Both women exchange glances, the same line of thought running through their minds. Bucky Barnes would definitely serve as the best distraction for Hydra right now; they only hope it wouldn't have to come to that. And that if it did, he'd be ready and willing. "Any idea what his endgame is?"

Maria tries to remember every encounter she's had with him from even before she became the Deputy Director. She recalls Fury's frustration whenever Pierce would suggest plan after outrageous plan and then her mentor's delight when Pierce finally comes up with a sensible one. She had always found the latter manipulative but some of his more sensible ideas did have merit so she hadn't said a thing. Definitely not to Fury, who seemed to worship the ground Pierce walked on – well, as much as one would imagine Fury gushing.

"He's always had a strategy to get the people who matter to _listen_ and it always worked. He's been building up to something in DC."

"Something big?"

"Not at 37% completion. But when it's up and running at Hydra's control…" Maria shakes her head. "May, Amador, Sully, and Clint can handle Ops and weeding them all out discreetly. Have them check in with me regularly. You," she pauses, writing something down on a notepad. "Check Project INSIGHT; start there. Nick will know. Try to shut down construction as inconspicuously as possible."

Natasha looks up from the piece of paper Maria just handed her. "Your overwrite code?" Disbelief colors her tone because she trusts Nick with her life after he and Clint helped her get it back.

Maria nods. The master code that doesn't require her physical presence, yes. "You're the only one who knows that. Use it only if absolutely necessary. I don't like it and Nick won't either." She gives Natasha a long, hard look, all seriousness and trust and surrender. "I know what you're thinking; I trust him with my life too. But sometimes when our heroes turn out to be the very demons we fight against, we're blinded by disbelief, denial; Pierce was his. So if— _If_ that happens, someone has to be brave enough to soldier on."

"I'm not a soldier," Natasha nearly growls, crumpling the piece of paper and throwing it into fireplace in Maria's study on her way out.

"You will be when you need to be."

 **\- x -**

The moment the door to Steve's unit is closed, a blanket of silence falls upon them. Bucky wanted nothing more than to go straight to his room but he knows Steve has something to say. And so does he.

"Buck—"

"I'm sorry."

Steve's shoulders slump in an instant. He's lost count of how many times his heart has broken over Bucky since his return. He takes a deep breath, eyes shut tightly with the guilt that washes over him from the slight relief brought upon by the apology. Howard Stark was a friend, and his friend's father. He didn't deserve to die the way he did – not that anyone did – but to find out that his death was at the hands of his best friend? He just didn't know what to think, what he feels.

Logically, he knew that Bucky wasn't at fault. Not for this, and not for any other heinous crimes Hydra might have had him do for decades. God, he was _frozen_ for decades – a fate he told himself he'd never wish for anyone but now he's reconsidering. Bucky did not deserve the blood on his hands – not those that didn't come from the war – and the guilt in his conscience.

"No, Bucky, you shouldn't be. None of that was your fault."

"I did it, Steve. All of it. It was my body, my hands, my…" His blank eyes focus on a spot above Steve's right shoulder. "They're all in my memories; some hazy, some I can see clearly. They haunt me, awake or asleep."

Steve's mouth opens but no words come out. Because what _can_ he say? He knows empty words of reassurance and hope and all that crap would have no use. And he wasn't even sure he could come up with that kind of speech at the moment so he settles for silence, hoping that it gives Bucky the comfort that Steve couldn't find.

"He recognized me," Bucky mumbles. "Stark."

Steve frowns. "Tony?"

"Howard. The night I… The night they died."

 _Help my wife… Please… Help… Sergeant Barnes?_

 _Howard… Howard…_

Bucky swallows, remembering the shock on Howard's face that registered nothing in him. He was the Asset. He responded to nothing but his orders. The only names he knew were those of his targets. He was the Asset. _Just_ the Asset. "He recognized me, called me Sergeant Barnes but it meant nothing to me. I was fresh from the ice, the chair."

"Ice?" He had a very different experience with that. "Chair?"

"In between missions, I was put under. A cryo-chamber or something. They wake me and take me to the chair." He hates that his voice cracked at that last word. "To hold down and wipe."

Before he went and found Natasha over a week ago, he'd been tracking and shutting down Hydra cells like the one in Wheaton. But if there was a reason he'd want to go back to the one in Siberia, it would be the chair. Not to be subjected to it once again or use it on another, but to destroy it, eviscerate it till only ashes and molten metal remains.

"You said every wipe… How… Natasha…" He sighs, unsure how to proceed when he feels like he's treading dangerous waters.

"I shot her once, in Odessa, and I didn't even feel a thing. She was protecting a target so I shot through her to complete my mission." His eyes glaze over, as if lost in a memory.

"Did you—"

"That was after the KGB, after we were…" Bucky continues, as if Steve hadn't spoken. "We were punished. And I didn't remember her anymore," he says so softly and ducks his head. "I didn't remember you."

But it wasn't his fault. How could anyone remember anything after the whole torturous ordeal of freezing and wiping? His best friend had been in pain all those years he was numbed by the ice. Bucky is still hurting but he doesn't know how to help. Would he even accept help?

"I want to help you, Bucky." He straightens up, resolve growing stronger for the man he'd stand with till the end of the line. "Tell me how."

Bucky tries to force a smile but he's not sure if he manages it. "You're here, Stevie. That's enough."

"Is it?"

He doesn't answer.

 **\- x -**

Tony has asked JARVIS to tell Bucky to come to his workshop and the AI only had one question.

"Sir, is that wise?"

Tony purses his lip in amused annoyance. "I won't attack the guy the minute he gets here. Tell him I've finished a new arm for him. It's ready for installation if he is."

"Captain Rogers had strict orders to alert him or—"

"Cap's out on an errand, J." JARVIS doesn't respond and yet Tony could almost feel the alarm he's sure JARVIS is itching to have blaring throughout the tower. "Tell Barnes it's okay if he wants to wait for Cap before coming down here."

"Of course, Sir."

When the doors open half an hour later, he turns, expecting to see the one-armed super soldier tense, ready to jump at him, and not alone. Instead, the man looks terribly guilty, miserably defeated, and calmly resigned, as if he came down here voluntarily meeting his fate. Now Tony, he can talk your ear off anytime and about anything except his feelings. So in typical Tony Stark fashion, he decides to launch on to the matter at hand, literally. Except—

Loud, irate whirring and beeping cut him off when all his bots simultaneously leave their charging stations at record speed. Both men turn to watch them and follow their destination – forcing their way in front of Tony, limbs extended in a menacing fashion towards Bucky who upon realizing the bots' intention had stared at all of them, wide-eyed with wonder instead of fear.

Tony's jaw drops. "What—" When DUM-E's hand starts reaching toward Bucky, Tony jumps into action. "No, boys, cut it out. _Now_." Butterfingers and U recoil and release a series of almost indignant yet relenting beeping but DUM-E merely pauses but stays poised for attack. "DUM-E, Pops said now," Tony warns.

JARVIS speaks up. "Sir, might I remind you that the primary function in our programming is to protect one Anthony Edward Stark?"

Tony sighs and rubs at his chin. The same was true for JARVIS but the bots' crude programming make it a lot more…forward. "Sergeant Barnes is not a threat. He's here because I called him down here." Only then does DUM-E's hand tilt to the side before retracting. "Now, back to your charging stations and no more of that barbaric behavior, you understand?" The bots do as they're told with beeps that almost sound like children grumbling and Bucky's awed expression remains.

"Sorry about that, Robocop," he says, using the pet name as an attempt at levity. "You good?" Bucky's eyes shift towards Tony now and simply nods. "Great," Tony exclaims and moves towards one of the work tables.

"I've got an arm for you, Mark 2 now 'cause I kinda ruined the first one." He definitely did, took the blowtorch and went to town with it. "It's nothing special but it _is_ Stark Tech. Plus, it's light and painless. You'd have full function while I work on a better one. Maybe try to integrate full sensation once I figure out how to wire those particular receptors to your sensory neurons. But like I said before, I don't deal with squishy bits. Maybe I can ask Dr. Cho's help; she can probably even have it covered in flesh. I mean, if that's what you want." He keeps his gaze away from Bucky as he babbles on in a subconscious attempt to dispel any lingering tension and gestures to the work table.

When Bucky fails to respond, he clears his throat and faces Bucky without meeting his eyes as he gets on with the procedure. "If you could just take a seat, we'll have the fitting done before you know it." When he hears no movement or response of any kind, he repeats himself, "Don't worry, it'll be light and painless." Still, nothing. So he looks up to meet eyes wide and glassy with surprise, confusion, and maybe even a hint of awe.

"I thought…" Bucky blinks, once, twice. "Why?"

Tony, genius that he is, looks utterly confused. "Why—Well, I didn't think you'd want to walk around with a stump for the rest of your life. Wait, is _that_ what you want?" This was a man who'd been stripped of his ability to choose so Tony kicks himself internally for not having asked in the first place.

Bucky shakes his head. " _Why_?"

Tony takes a deep breath. He was hoping to delay this conversation till maybe _never_ but here they are. "Because of that guilt… It's that guilt and the shame and the self-inflicted punishment you've got going on that has me wanting to forgive you."

"Forgive me?" Bucky recoils as if he were shot, and he might as well have been for the shock he could feel flooding his system.

Tony can't keep the bitterness from bleeding into his features. "I guess there really isn't anything to forgive to begin with." He sighs and it's like all the tension, anger, and bitterness seeps right out of his whole body. "Cap's right. What you did all those years… It wasn't you. You had no choice."

"I know…" His voice is just above a whisper but in the silence of the usually bustling workshop, it might as well have been a piercing scream, especially when he looks up and fixes his gaze on Tony's. "But I did it."

Tony studies the man before him closely. The wide, pleading, and guilt-ridden eyes shining with unshed tears reminds him of how he'd carried himself during his confession some time ago – resigned and defeated, head hung, and shoulders slumped. He hadn't even tried to defend himself when Tony had lunged at him and landed a couple of blows with his suit's gauntlets.

"How about we make a deal?" Bucky tilts his head in question. "Let me work on your arm as your penance? Throw in a bit of regular maintenance work and we're all set."

Bucky remembers Tony's promise about the procedure and the arm itself – light and painless. "That…benefits me. H—How is that penance?"

Tony shrugs. "I get to make sure no one gets to control you through it and you get a new arm that only you can decide whether to use as a weapon and against whom. It's like a blank slate; you can do with it as you please. It won't be the arm you used before to…follow orders. But if you end up using it as such, then that's on your conscience."

 _They're all on my conscience_ , he thinks but instead he says, "That's not penance."

Tony huffs, "Well, I don't know what the hell it is. I don't know how to deal with this situation. It's not like I have prior experience with brainwashed assassins who apparently killed my mother." He bangs his hands on his work table in frustration. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, counting them to quell what he feels to be a burgeoning panic attack. "Sorry," he mutters.

Bucky shakes his head. "There's nothing to be sorry for." It's the second time Tony mentioned only his mother with regard to the incident that ended both his parents' lives and Bucky can't help wondering why. "It's not your fault; it's mine."

"But that's what I'm trying to tell you! It's _not_ your fault. They _brainwashed_ and _controlled_ you. They took away even the very concept of choice. I want to blame you, I do, but I can't because it wouldn't be fair to you."

Bucky lets out a bitter laugh, eyes shining with disbelief. "I _killed_ your parents and you're talking about what's fair for _me_?"

Tony sighs, his head beginning to throb. "The people you…" He clears his throat. "The targets they gave you weren't the only victims in this whole…" He gestures randomly with his hand as he searches for the appropriate word. "Fiasco. _You_ were a victim too. And you still are because you get to live with the guilt that shouldn't be yours to carry." He finishes his explanation with his breathing almost erratic from emotion and frustration. Softly, he adds, "None of this is your goddamn fault, Barnes. Just…let us help you. Let _me_ help in the only way I can." His hand falls gently on the metal arm perched on the work table.

Bucky swallows and looks Tony right in the eyes with unshed tears in his own. "You're a good man, Stark."

Tony rolls his eyes, suddenly uncomfortable because of the compliment's sincerity. "It's _Tony_ ," he corrects almost grouchily as he ignores the compliment altogether, adamant in his belief that he is far from good.

A corner of Bucky's lips curls up. "Thank you… Tony."

From then on, Bucky lets Tony work on his stump, watching the genius work with his hands as he prepares both the arm and Bucky's shoulder for the installation to ensure that none of the wires attached to his nerve endings would end up causing pain the same way the old arm did.

Little did they know that two spies had been listening in on their conversation, weapons drawn but lowered behind the wall by the elevators, after JARVIS alerted them of the confrontation in the workshop before it could even begin.

* * *

 _A/N: Don't you just love Tony's protective bots? 3 I really do believe that anyone in Tony's position in the film - watching your parents get murdered by the man standing just a few feet from you and having your friend Mr. Paragon of American Truth and Justice lie to your face for years - would have reacted the same way he did. But that given time, Tony would want nothing more than to help Bucky so here's my take on that. Also, here, Steve knows nothing about the Winter Soldier and his kill count, etc. For those expecting more Captain Hill, next chapter's gonna be a bit of a gift for you._


	21. Chapter 21

_Author's Notes: So sorry I took so long. I really thought I could keep with the monthly updates this time but apparently juggling work and school (and the bit of social life my introverted ass can handle) can drain a person. I think I promised the beginning of Winter Iron? Can't remember. But I'm damn sure I promised this chapter would be a gift to my Captain Hill readers. I hope no one gets disappointed. Anyway, it's 1:35am here and I have to be up by 5 so... I hope I'm still making sense lol. Happy reading!_

 _Btw, no beta here so all mistakes are mine._

* * *

Just before Natasha leaves for SHIELD, she stops by Steve's apartment and asks the speak with Bucky privately. At first, Steve hesitates. He trusts Natasha to have his back on the field, sure, but personal matters are different. Bucky manages to convince him, however.

"Go find Hill. You've been yapping on and on about how she probably hasn't stopped working without Milkshake to distract her." At the mention of his name, the cat toddles in, weaving figure eights around Bucky's ankles. "I'll take care of him."

When the door clicks shut behind Steve, Bucky feels the tension threatening to tighten his muscles until they all snap. So he scoops the cat up and cradles him in the crook of his arm, letting him bump his furry head on his chest. He looks up to find Natasha staring pointedly at the image he and the cat make. "He, uh…calms me. At least Hill thinks so." Natasha tilts her head in agreement but doesn't answer, only observes. "You know," Bucky finally says.

"I do."

"How?"

"Does it matter?" Natasha asks, having no desire to admit how she and Maria ended up eavesdropping four days ago after being alerted by JARVIS. She watches Bucky's shoulders slump when he sighs. "How are you holding up?"

Bucky takes a seat on the couch, setting the cat on his lap, feeling him purr as he absently pets him. "Shouldn't you be asking him?" Natasha remains silent until he gives in. "I'm fine. Could do with a lot less hovering from Steve but I know he's being a punk 'cause he cares."

Natasha studies him until she's satisfied he's telling what he believes is the truth – because he isn't fine but he'll get there. "He's right, you know?"

"With the hovering?"

She shakes her head. "He said you were a victim in this too and he's right."

Bucky sighs, "That isn't fair to him or the rest of the other victims."

"And you're not being fair to _yourself_ ," Natasha counters, still calm despite the tension brought on by the topic itself. "Your actions weren't a conscious decision on your part. Mine were," she pauses, meeting Bucky's wide-eyed gaze head on because he knows what she was even if he seems to have forgotten. "But I'm learning to forgive myself because I eventually understood that while mine were conscious acts, I didn't have the knowledge at the time to realize I could've chosen otherwise. I was raised as a Black Widow and I've got red in my ledger, James. Now I'm making up for it. You could too."

"How?" Bucky rasps. "How can I do that when the words are still here?" His index finger digs into his temple in his frustration.

"You're safe for now. Take that time to decide your penance before someone else decides for you. Take your life back; live it however you want to." She walks toward him, a hand reaching over to squeeze his shoulder before turning to leave. "If you can't choose anything else, at least choose to _live_."

When she reaches for the door, he calls out, "How is he?" Natasha merely raises an eyebrow at him. Lately, he's been spending more time with the genius than any of the other Avengers due to the regularly scheduled check-ups for his arm. "I know I see him a lot but," he pauses. "I don't know him as well as the rest of you do."

Natasha's head leans a little to the side, a small yet kind smile curving her lips. "He's warmed up to you faster than he did with us," she answers. "Take that however you will."

And with that, she's gone, leaving Bucky with a lapful of cat and a head full of questions.

 **\- x -**

Every check-up and upgrade for the arm, Bucky comes in an hour early to watch Tony work and to play with the bots who, after their initial introduction, have all decided that they adored him and it tugs at something in Tony's chest. His bots are like his children, his creations, and he's proud of all of them, even if sometimes he likes (affectionately) putting a DUNCE hat on DUM-E. The others have all been friendly with his bots when they stay over but none of them have taken the time to actually _play_ with them.

"So…" Bucky suddenly asks as he turns away from the bots and leans his elbows on the work table. "Do you have a flying car?" Tony's head snaps up at the question and gives Bucky a blank stare that makes the latter want to scratch at his nape. "The night before I was deployed, I took Steve and some girls out to the Stark Expo because it bragged about the world's first flying car," he says in explanation. "But Howard was full o' shit. It was off the ground for all of four seconds before it crashed," he scoffs and Tony blinks but otherwise keeps the wide-eyed stare firmly on Bucky. "So do you?" Bucky asks again, noticing the tiny twitch on one of Tony's eyes. "What, somethin' wrong with my face?"

"No, you're beautiful," comes Tony's immediate answer. _What?_ Then he blinks, clearing his throat at the slight blush he could feel creeping up his neck. "I'm _Iron Man_. I fly a _suit of armor_ and fight to ensure world security on a regular basis. And you're asking about _flying cars_?" He masks his slip with arrogance and feigned offense.

"No, I know. And believe me, Doll, that's mighty impressive. Your suits take my breath away, especially when you're in them. And DUM-E and U and Butterfingers and man, JARVIS…" Bucky shakes his head, a small smile gracing his lips. "Every little thing you've created is fucking awesome. But I've always wanted to fly and I can't exactly ride you."

Tony blinks. And when Bucky realizes what he'd just said, he blinks as well, the blush coloring his cheeks matching Tony's. And out of nowhere, Bucky feels a smirk spreading across his features as he lowers his voice and drawls, "Not that I don't want to. I'm sure it'd feel as amazing as watching you but I didn't think you were…available."

Tony's eyes widen minutely but Bucky notices anyway and lowers his gaze, watching the other man's throat bob as he swallows. Tony clears his throat a lot more forcefully than he normally would. Flirting is like second nature to the genius, even on his worst days, but the supersoldier sitting across from him seems to be affecting him in a way that no other man ever had. So he changes the topic.

"Your arm is in pristine condition. No need to worry."

"I know," Bucky says, or maybe _rasps_ is the better description. "Just…routine check-up." _To see you_.

"Of course," Tony nods. And although something in his head doesn't want him to, Tony speaks anyway. "These routine check-ups don't need to continue unless you feel something unusual. Or until I come up with a better design." He feels his stomach drop for some reason and seeing Bucky's face fall, he hurriedly adds, "But you're welcome here. Anytime. The bots enjoy your company." _So do I._

Bucky's warm smile crinkles his eyes as he gazes intently at the other man. "The feeling is mutual," he says, keeping his gaze steady as he pets DUM-E's outstretched arm. "Especially this guy." DUM-E's pleased whirring makes both men chuckle.

"Oh, Buttercup," he says, the nickname absently escaping him. "You only say that 'cause he hasn't needlessly sprayed you with fire extinguisher."

"I wouldn't mind." Tony raises an eyebrow at that. "The others stay here while you work sometimes but DUM-E only ever does that to you." At this, Tony's head tilts, unsure of where Bucky was going with this. "So if he does it to me too, that has to mean I'm special." Bucky finishes his explanation with a lopsided grin that does things to Tony's stomach.

"That's…" Tony blinks and wonders at the other man, a slow, uncertain smile brightening up his features. "That's one way of looking at it."

"Sir," JARVIS tentatively breaks the growing tension that, for once, isn't alarming. "I apologize for the interruption but Ms. Potts is on the line."

Tony clears his throat. "Patch her through, J."

Pepper's upper half appears on a holoscreen, showing the others that she's on a private plane back from Japan. "Hi, Tony."

"Hey, Pep. Miss me?" Bucky watches as Tony's face lights up with an easy, affectionate smile and mentally kicks himself because he was right; Tony wasn't _available_.

Pepper's eyes roll but the wide smile on her lips softens the blow when her sarcastic tone comes. "Every day, Tony. Every. Day." She fails to notice the other occupant of the workshop until the man clears his throat. "Oh, hi, Sergeant Barnes," she greets, her smile still on her face but Tony notices how tense her posture had suddenly gotten. "I didn't realize you were there. How have you been?"

"I'm swell, Ma'am. Uh, Ms. Potts," he corrects, remembering that women nowadays have a particular aversion to that title. Was it an age thing? He wasn't sure. "You?"

"I'm great," she glances at Tony. Apart from the way he's watching both her and Bucky so closely, his body language tells her he's relaxed. So she turns her gaze back to Bucky and extends a friendly hand, so to speak. "Call me Pepper if that's fine with you?"

He nods with a small smile. "James then, Pepper." At Pepper's affirmative response, he points his thumb vaguely behind him. "I'm gonna… So you can…" He gestures to Tony, to Pepper on the holoscreen, and around the workshop in general. "Excuse me." He turns to leave and pauses just before he exits the sliding doors when Tony catches his attention.

"Hey, Skywalker…" He trails off, waiting for Bucky to realize he'd been addressed. When Bucky gives him a blank stare, he gets sidetracked. "Oh my god, you have to watch Star Wars. You just _have_ to! All of it, even the ones whose existence I refuse to acknowledge."

Bucky tilts his head before his lips curl up. "We'll make a day of it."

Tony looks at him strangely, wondering how the 'you' became a 'we' but agrees anyway. "And about that other thing?" He gestures wildly with a flutter of hands and fingers yet somehow Bucky manages to catch his drift. "I'll see what I can do."

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise before they narrow in confusion. He has a feeling that this man doesn't do anything half-assed. So if he says he'll see what he can do, that means he'll make it happen. So with a toothy grin, he nods.

 **\- x -**

"How are things on your end?"

"They're fine, Tasha. May, Amador, and Carter are good to go, as expected, and they're already helping. We'll get through the rest in less than a week," comes Clint's voice from the other end of the line. "Yours?"

She hesitates for a second before answering, "Fine." And that's more than enough of a tell for Clint.

"I'll be up top in 10," he says just before the line cuts.

Natasha slides in beside Clint nine minutes later. They're in the vents just below the rooftop – Clint's favorite place where he claims he can see everything without being seen. He nudges her shoulder with his and keeps the contact as he smiles at her. He doesn't say a word, however, just waits her out.

"What if you found out I wasn't…" She trails off, wary of eyes and ears everywhere. "'Good to go'?" She asks, using his particular phrasing from earlier.

Clint looks at her, tempted to pinch her nose to show her how absurd her question was but her posture and expression force him to take her seriously. "I already know you are," he says lightly but with no less conviction.

"Yeah, but _what if_?" She insists. "Would you take me out?"

"I trust you with my life, Tasha." He bends down to catch her gaze. "I'd give mine for yours, you know that. And more importantly, I trust you with my family. If I had to…" He looks away briefly and licks his dry lips. "If I absolutely had to, I would. But not without giving you an out. I did it before. Before I even knew you." He turns back to her, steel gaze cutting through her very core. "What makes you think I wouldn't do it again now that I do?"

She looks away at that, unable to look into his eyes any further as she whispers, "You're compromised."

He nudges her again and presses a lingering kiss on her temple as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. "So are you."

She doesn't say anything, just lays her head on his shoulder and takes comfort and strength from the person she loves more than anyone else in this world.

 **\- x -**

"You have Bucky cat-sitting?"

"He finds Milkshake therapeutic."

"Does he know the origin of that name?" He only gets an almost playful glare in response. "Good," he nods. He hadn't been able to keep the dark, possessive tone from coloring his voice, earning himself a raised eyebrow and a towel in the face. "Sorry."

With her back turned to him as she pours them both some coffee, she lightly answers, "No, you're not."

"No," he grins at the surprising levity with which she approached his caveman tendencies and it's taking everything in him not to swoop in from behind and wrap his arms around her. "I'm not."

She rolls her eyes as she slides a steaming mug down the counter towards him and takes the seat beside him. They still have that standing agreement of keeping things chaste and almost painfully platonic but when they're alone, she relaxes and allows their interactions to be warm and friendly. She turns to face him. "So what's bothering you?"

"That obvious?" He asks almost shyly as he leans an elbow on the counter to face her fully. At her look, he chuckles. "Of course it is."

She shrugs. "Maybe to me." And that's all the possessiveness he'll get from her. Because if you ask anyone else, he wasn't that obvious but he was to _her_. She drops a hand on his knee. "Are you okay?"

This, right here, is why he doesn't understand how anyone could call her cold. "Nothing's wrong but," he pauses and from his words, she knows it's not urgent but it's important. "Why did Bucky come to you? Why does he come to Natasha? Hell, even Tony." The question he really means to ask is left unspoken. _Why not me?_

"I can't speak for him or even presume to know him well enough but I suspect it's because it's more difficult for him to figure out how to _be_ when it comes to you."

Just as Maria expected, Steve's brows furrow and says a bit defensively, "He can just be himself."

"Can he?" She asks, genuinely curious instead of accusatory, and Steve deflates. "Out of all the people here, you're the only one who has expectations – from him, about him, for him. It's not wrong," she immediately adds upon seeing his frown. "It's normal. You knew him, Steve, so it's normal to hold on to who he was. But that's probably what makes it harder for him to approach you."

"What about Natasha? She knew him too."

She nods. "She did, but she knew all about the darkness. You knew him before…everything. I'm sure he doesn't blame you. He's probably scared, more than anything."

"Of what?"

She glances down, her answer somehow resonating within her, before she looks back up at him. "Of disappointing you."

He shakes his head. "He never could." Maria tilts her head, gauging whether he's working through it all or he's simply putting his pal on a pedestal. "I know what he did, he came clean. But like I said, it wasn't him. He had no choice so none of that was his fault."

Maria studies him for a little while before finally responding. "I know it's not easy, but you can't expect him to be the same man he was before. That doesn't mean the best friend you knew isn't in there somewhere because he is. He's just…changed. Like you have. At your very core, you're still the kid who couldn't get a ticket to the war but that's not all that you are anymore."

"And it's probably harder for him," he finishes for her. "But the thing is, even knowing all that, even with all the darkness that haunts him now, he's my…" He trains his tortured gaze on Maria's and she almost gasps at the raw pain in them. "He's _Bucky_."

Maria doesn't even try to give him empty promises of how everything will be back to normal. She just reaches over, placing her hand over his in comfort. "He has all these memories that are so...fragmented and they're keeping him from settling into who he wants to be now. But he will, eventually."

He nods solemnly and turns his hand palm up to squeeze hers, giving her a soft smile. "And you'll help him?"

"I don't think it's _my_ help he wants," she mumbles around the smile she's biting back. "But if he needs it, then sure." When she turns back to him, his smile is still there but his eyes are glazed with something she'd grown familiar with during their time in Wheaton, something she's sure is reflected in her own darkening orbs.

Desire. Or what a part of her still rational mind calls 'dangerous territory'. She clears her throat, "You should go."

He should. But he doesn't make a move, not even to break their eye contact. And she doesn't seem awfully eager to make him leave either. Especially not after the words that come out when he opens his mouth.

"What if _I_ need you?" He asks, lacing his fingers through hers and effectively holding her gaze captive as he brings their twined hands up to place a lingering kiss at the back of hers.

Her lips part slightly, involuntarily, yet her gaze remains steady on him as she feels her pulse quicken. Her mind races a mile a minute with questions she knows she wouldn't be able to answer truthfully: how they got here, how a simple kiss on her hand had liquid heat pooling south, how he managed to douse barely glowing embers with enough fuel to set a forest on fire.

"What if I…" He twists their hands to place a feather-light kiss on her wrist, his gaze focused on hers as he feels the pounding of her heart through her veins. " _Want_ you?"

She swallows and realizes that she has never felt so parched. "You have me." Her palm cups his cheek, her thumb grazing his lips. "Always."

When they meet, it's like the room, the tower, the world falls away and nothing else matters except for the way they feel for each other, with each other. It's familiar – lips, teeth, tongue – yet so extraordinary – need, desire, emotion.

She reaches inside his sweatpants, intent on making him feel good, but she merely gets two strokes in before he catches her wrist and traps it behind her.

"No," he growls.

She shakes her head, her gaze intent on his. "This is about you."

"Then _let me_."

She nearly gasps, almost breathless at how low his voice has become and at the intensity of his gaze. There is something to be said here, about how he asks for her permission, about how she relinquishes all control with a single nod, about how _his_ pleasure is based on _hers_.

"God, I've missed you," he whispers, his breath ghosting over the heated skin of her neck. "I've missed how you smell." He kisses her temple, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. "I've missed how you sound." He sucks in her earlobe as his hand wanders up, his thumb flicking her pert nipple through her sleep shirt, eliciting a strangled moan. "I've missed how you taste." His tongue laves from the spot behind her ear down her jaw and neck, biting at the juncture of her neck and shoulders and a thrill races up and down his spine at her keening cry of pleasure. "I've missed how you feel." His other hand has moved down her back, cupping her ass and pulling her right against his crotch. She gasps at the sudden friction and her back arches.

"Apart from your hands, I don't want you to hold anything back," he tells her as he stands with her plastered to his body, carrying her to her bedroom. "I want to hear you, Maria. I want to feel you." He gently sets her down on her bed, hovering over her, pinning both her hands above her head. His eyes devour her, committing the image she creates into his memory. "And I want you to keep on coming." And with that, he drives down, plunging his tongue deep within her.

She keeps her hands where he leaves them, moving them only to grip the headboard. She fights against each and every one of her instincts urging her to reclaim her power and control. She knows she can, easily. But that's not what this is about. This is about what he wants and what he wants is to pleasure her.

When she comes down from her high, she hears him say, "One." And her eyes snap open and looks down at him, watching her from between her thighs. If he's counting…

She takes pride in herself for not blacking out. _Yet_. But she loses count at some point, when she could barely breathe, let alone keep her eyes open. He has his cock inside her for the first time since they started this. "I don't think I can, Steve," she mumbles, still coherent despite the breathlessness.

"Yes, you can. I know you can, with me," he coaxes, his hands gently squeezing – one on her hip and the other on the knee he has up by his shoulder.

She hums, "No, just you."

"No, we'll do it," he pants, feeling his own imminent release. "Together. Just one more time." And as if a light bulb flickered on in his mind, he leans down close, his thumb pressing between their bodies as he whispers, "Come for me, _baby_."

When he pulls back, his eyes meet her glazed ones, wide, wild, and dark. They both fight to keep watching the other as that familiar plunge takes over them. He thinks, as he watches her writhing beneath him, that even in this surrender, the fight and fire in her eyes ablaze, transporting him into a sanctuary he never wishes to leave.

Later, when they're both _finally_ finished and thoroughly sated, Maria lies curled into his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Steve has his palm splayed between her shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair. That he'd taken comfort from her body when she'd asked for time. That he _needed her_.

Maria, with what little strength she has left after hours of love-making, lifts her head to look into his eyes. "No, Steve, don't."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, you wore me out," she chuckles and finds his other hand, fingers intertwined. And he can't say for sure in the dim lighting but is that a blush? "I could've stopped you at any time but I didn't… I _let_ _you_." She looks at him long enough to make sure he understands before she leans in for a chaste yet lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. She lays her head back on his shoulder, feeling his hold on her tighten like he wants every inch of her skin to touch his and never let go. And to her surprise, she yields, snuggling closer.

In the end, it wasn't just about her. It _was_ , because she's never been so out of control before, almost to the point of begging. And he revels in the knowledge that _he_ made her that way. But it was also about him taking control, going after what he wants, and finding that single, intense release. And just as sleep claims them, the last thought on their minds is how to deal with what tonight has revealed to them.

 _Her_ pleasure is _his._

He seems to have surrendered to her completely. Normally, that would have had her running for the hills. However, she finds herself feeling… _content_ – anything more, she refuses to acknowledge. Despite how terrifying it is to have that kind of power over someone, she revels in it because she _knows_ him. There is no one in this universe that she trusts wholeheartedly apart from him. She only needs to trust herself with him.

Tonight was the first step towards that. So tonight, Maria Hill sleeps with a smile on her face.

* * *

 _A/N: Gaaaaaah. Satisfying, yes? No? Let me know? And also, if anyone wants to expand that last scene, feel free to do so. (Please do so? I feel like I cheated myself and everyone else by glossing over the counting but I cannot for the life of me write explicit smut well, I'm sorry.) Just...tag me or something if you actually end up using any part of it._

 _Kind words and/or constructive criticism are always welcome! Or if you feel like you need to vent, go for it. Thanks for always being so understanding. Enjoy your day xox_


	22. Chapter 22

_Author's Notes: Less than a month, woot! That's what happens when you run away from ~adult responsibilities... *sigh*_

 _I'm so glad somebody actually brought up the power relations between Captain Hill (you know who you are) because yes, Maria seems to have more power in this not-quite-relationship but I think that's just how it works when the feelings are mutual but only half of the party is ready to take it to the next level. I also think that Maria's reluctance to lay her heart on the line as opposed to Steve's eagerness to do so is consistent with how they've been characterized so far.  
I mean, of course, I could be wrong and you're all always free to call me out on that. But that's also why I wrote them that way in the previous chapter - with Maria surrendering to whatever brought Steve pleasure (even if it was her own) as opposed to their sexual dynamic in the beginning of this story - to sort of level the playing field for both of them.  
Maybe it just didn't show? I'm kinda shit at writing smut so I took the coward's way out and made it stick to an M rating and not cross over to E. Which is why everyone's free to elaborate on that counting-the-O's scene. I'd appreciate it too ;)_

* * *

Tony hadn't been able to release any pent-up emotions from the revelation about his parents. He had no one to blame. He's had no reason to suit up because apart from the plans to dismantle Hydra, there had been no missions requiring the Avengers.

So he'd turned to his one true outlet – his work. And it was a good thing too because his best friend Rhodey had dropped by, claiming he was finally on vacation. Which meant War Machine could probably use a bit of tuning up and maybe a couple of upgrades. Cap's finally introduced his jogging buddy to the rest of the team and luckily for Tony, Sam Wilson just happens to be a veteran whose choice of poison is a pair of wings that may or may not warrant a Stark modification.

So he's down to nearly finishing yet another upgrade of Bucky's arm, Mark 3 this time – just as light and painless but with increased connection and smoother transition from flesh and bone to metal to improve sensation and control over fine motor skills, so much that the guy could probably paint miniature masterpieces. His constant late night tinkering, particularly his latest binge, finally has Pepper coming down to his workshop to drag him to dinner.

"You've finished all R&D deadlines days ago. I can see a new pair of wings mounted and ready to use. Rhodey arrived the other night, finally on vacation, and you barely acknowledged him. He told me you've upgraded War Machine twice now. And don't think I haven't seen all the suits you've finished making just because they're hidden behind that wall." Pepper gestures to the far wall, wide and uncluttered. "You haven't left the workshop in the last 57 hours, Tony," Pepper scolds him with her hands on her hips. Her ire turns to worry as she pulls his seat and turns him to face her. "Have you even eaten?"

"DUM-E's been handing me protein shakes," he answers nonchalantly but refuses to meet Pepper's eyes.

"If you've been ingesting motor oil, Tony, I swear—" Pepper gets cut off by indignant whirring from the bot in question. She turns to DUM-E's charging station fondly and notices U and Butterfingers at attention beside DUM-E. She knows JARVIS would never let Tony eat or drink anything even remotely questionable, especially given DUM-E's track record with shakes and motor oil. She looks back at Tony with a much softer expression. "I'm sorry I haven't been here for you."

"I know you've been busy this past week. You were in a conference in Japan, Pepper, you couldn't have been here. And I ignored your calls for a reason; you don't always have to worry about my issues." He gives her an irritated look but they both know it's all for show.

"So there _are_ issues?" When he simply looks away, she takes a deep breath. "Are you alright?" She asks gently, fingers caressing his jaw, coaxing him to meet her gaze.

When he looks at her, it's with eyes glassy from unshed tears. "I don't know how to deal with it, Pep. I know it's not his fault. I told him there's nothing to forgive but there _is,_ it's just not him. It's like every time I see him, I'm reminded of it and I keep thinking that maybe… Maybe if my mom were here today, she'd understand me better because _I_ understand her better now. She didn't always know how to show it when I was a kid but _she loved me._ I saw that, I _knew_ that, especially when Jarvis died and she saw herself in my grief."

"Oh, Tony," she murmurs by his ear as she pulls him to her chest, rubbing his back when she feels him shaking.

"It's not fair, Pep," he says, his voice muffled as his arms wrap around Pepper, fists clenching in her jacket. He hates that he's crying again over something that happened decades ago but he couldn't stop, not with the comfort she's offering, and certainly not while he's sleep-deprived. He pulls away to wipe at his face. "What happened to Barnes was not fair either; it was downright cruel. And goddamn it, he seems like the good man Aunt Peggy told me about. He's so racked with guilt, and every time he sees me it's like he's resigned to getting a beating. I don't know what to do."

"Have you talked to him?" Pepper asks, wiping at the lone tear that rolled down her cheek.

"Yeah," Tony's lips curl up a bit. "I gave him a new arm, way better than his old one."

"I'm sure it is," Pepper says, smiling while running her fingers through Tony's hair.

"And he doesn't look like a kicked puppy as much when I talk to him like a normal person. I think he's slowly warming up to the idea of living here. Maybe soon, he'll actually move into an apartment of his own instead of staying at Steve's."

"That's good." Pepper pulls back and meets Tony's hopeful gaze. "If you ever feel at a loss again, over this or anything else, I want you to call me, Tony. Okay?"

Tony ducks his head. "You're busy—"

"I'm the CEO of _your_ company. And you're one of my best friends. I can damn well take a day for you when you need me. You know that, right?"

"Of course, I do," he takes her hand in his and starts lightly swinging their joined hands. "I just don't want you to worry."

Pepper tilts her head with an exasperated look. "I've had my hand inside your chest. I've seen you just about throw your life away while you were _dying_ in secret. And I've watched you fall from the sky, _lifeless_ for all anyone knew. I don't think anything could top that." She huffs. "I worry, Tony, and I always will because I love you," she flicks his ear.

"Ow!" He rubs at his ear but laughs anyway. "Love you too, Pep." He goes in for another hug and about a full minute passes by in silence before he mumbles, "Rhodey doesn't know."

She hums, having already figured it out; otherwise, the other man wouldn't allow this 57-hour binge. "Do you want to tell him?"

"Of course, he's been my best friend since _forever_ ," he sniffles. "But I don't want to go through all this crying and shit again." Pepper waits, already knowing what Tony will say. "Can you tell him for me?"

"Okay, but expect the wrath of your Rhodey-bear." Pepper pulls him up from his seat and leads the way to the elevator. "Now, come on. You need a shower, you stink."

"I think you'll need to change too; there's snot and grease on your dress." He says, studying her face before running his thumb across her cheek. With a grin, he adds, "And your face."

Pepper groans. "Tony!"

 **\- x -**

Maria wanted nothing more at the moment than to curl up even further into the warmth of Steve's embrace – and that thought alone normally would've had her running for the hills – but she had woken up with an intense need to pee and then hydrate her exhausted yet extremely satiated body so she moved despite her protesting muscles. She could feel herself nearly falling asleep again on her way back from relieving herself but upon glancing at the time, she figured it'd be best to get caffeinated and start work early.

She spends some time simply blinking and staring at the coffee and the coffee maker, as if simply willing it to make itself, before JARVIS quietly suggests, "There is a freshly-brewed pot in the common room, Agent Hill. However, I suggest you put some clothes on first."

Maria had never been shy about her body or averse to nudity but she wasn't about to flash every other resident of the tower even if they're all probably still asleep at 3:47AM. So she pads back into the room and pulls on a clean pair of panties and the first article of clothing she finds. If it just so happened to be another one of Steve's baby-soft flannel shirts – which nowadays he only ever wears when he spends all day at the tower – then lucky her. She's nearly out of the bedroom door when she hears Steve stirring on her bed.

She makes her way back to him and gently rubs his back, shushing him quietly. "You're okay, Steve. Get some more sleep."

She waits a few more seconds after he settles and then presses a gentle kiss on his brow, smoothing it out in the process. Before she leaves her unit, however, she grabs the smallest gun in her extensive collection and tucks it in the backside of her underwear.

"Oh, hey, Maria," Tony greets her, voice flat and still barely awake as he pours himself his second cup of coffee and then another for his unexpected companion. Maria rounds the counter and stands beside him, muttering her thanks upon accepting his proffered cup. Only then does he take note of her appearance – wildly tousled bed hair, messy remnants of yesterday's work make-up, face and posture one of contented exhaustion, barefoot, and an unevenly buttoned loose shirt that reaches mid-thigh and is threatening to fall off one of her shoulders. Wait, is that—

"Maria Hill, I never!" He exclaims, suddenly wide awake.

"Not another word, Stark," she warns, her eyes still closed as she savors the aroma and taste of coffee.

"Oh, there are _plenty_ of words. Or moans," he teases, setting his cup on the counter and facing Maria with an expression on his face that reflects how he thinks the sight of her right this moment is the most scandalous thing he's ever encountered. (It's not.) "Or orgas—"

She groans, "At least let me finish my coffee in peace before you start."

"Fine," he relents. But it only takes five seconds before his curiosity wins over. "So how's Steve?" The way he asks the question coupled with the obnoxious smirk he's currently sporting makes it clear that what he's asking is less about Steve's well-being than it is about his _performance_.

Maria smirks back. "Of course, you'd be interested. Is it about a super soldier's performance in general or is there something you're particularly interested in? Like, I don't know, size and refractory period?"

Tony squawks, suddenly red and in the middle of a coughing fit. "Why would I be interested in that?"

She raises an eyebrow, pointedly eyeing him as she shrugs, "For your own _research_ , of course."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hill." Tony all of a sudden finds it difficult to meet Maria's gaze and mumbles, "I gotta get back to work."

Maria has a hand around his bicep before he could take a step further. When he looks up at her, her expression has turned serious but no less friendly. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing great, Maria. Just needed my fix," he says, raising his cup of cooling coffee.

"Tony," Maria softly coaxes, leaning towards him a little bit so she has his full attention.

He sighs, setting his cup back down before running a hand over his face. "I don't know. Better because Pepper and Rhodey are here, but worse because the more I get to know him, the more I…" He frowns, shaking his head. "I need someone to blame."

Maria, who already knows Tony doesn't blame Barnes, needs no further elaboration. "Knowing it's Hydra doesn't really help much."

Tony shakes his head. "Even with the names, it all feels…abstract."

"That's world security for you," Maria agrees. "Sometimes you don't have much to go forward with but you go anyway. At least this is…a start."

"Some of that Captain America optimism rubbing off on you?" Tony teases before wiggling his eyebrows and adding, "Among other things." He couldn't help his surprised yelp when she suddenly reaches for his nose and pinches it with a vengeance.

"I've told you before, listen more than you talk, Tony." She purses her lips as if reprimanding a child.

With voice muffled by his hands rubbing at his nose, he says, "My mouth runs faster than my brain can catch up sometimes."

"Only sometimes, Sir?" JARVIS quips.

"When did I say I was gonna reprogram you?" He glares at the ceiling.

"You never did, Sir. Shall I mark it to never?"

Tony grins, "You betcha."

Maria rolls her eyes but a small smile plays at the corners of her lips. "You're a good person, Tony."

"That is the second time in less than a month that someone's told me that. What's a man gotta do to maintain his reputation?" He mock-complains, uncomfortable with the compliment.

Maria ignores him. "What you're doing for him despite…everything shouldn't be taken lightly. Even if you're a pain in the ass." Her quip makes Tony smile and concede. "He seems better, by the way. So despite what you think, you must be doing something right."

"He gets really quiet sometimes, just staring blankly into space and it takes a while before I'm able to ground him again. Other times, he jerks back into reality and I need to remind him where he is and that he's safe."

"Has he ever gotten violent?" She asks, squaring her shoulders, looking ready to spring to his defense anytime.

"No, nothing like that," Tony quickly reassures. "Just…lost. Happens when I check his arm. It must be bringing back unpleasant memories."

Maria is silent for a while, debating with herself about whether to tell Tony and ultimately deciding to do so. "Steve said Barnes mentioned voices in his head—No, not voices, _words_. The way he talked about it made them seem more like triggers."

"Verbal triggers?" Tony absently rubs at his chin. "Makes sense if you count multiple wipes and conditioning. And having no other stimuli."

She nods. "I've been in touch with the SHIELD psychologists that handled the Black Widow's case before but their cases are different. They're looking into studies on survivors of trauma and prolonged abuse but given the wipes, they have yet to come up with a concrete solution that could help."

"I might have just the thing."

 **\- x -**

"Take your time, man," Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

Steve smiles his thanks as he turns the doorknob. "Hey, Peg. How's my best girl?" He asks upon hearing the click of the door behind him.

"Never was and never will be," she answers as she always does with a smile of her own. "But very well, thank you. And judging by that look on your face, I take it something's troubling you?"

He chuckles, shaking his head while making his way to her bedside. He considers lying – she doesn't need his baggage right now, or ever – but she always had a good read of him – and everyone else, he assumes – so he just sighs.

"I'm happy," he blurts out.

That was definitely not what she was expecting but she could roll with that. Her little head tilt gives Steve the impression that she's got him all figured out. "You do seem…lighter than usual." Her smile turns from one of gentle affection to teasing amusement. "Is it Maria? Did she finally agree to be your girl again?"

Steve pale complexion immediately turns flushed. "I don't think 'again' would apply here. Or ever. She's not _mine_. But she's not anyone's anyway."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you want to be hers?"

Steve's smile turns shy as he hangs his head. "I already am," he admits. "We came to an agreement and we're still working the kinks out but we're gonna try."

"That's fantastic news, Steve! As long as she's not with you only because you're Captain America."

He huffs a laugh. "Let me tell you, Maria Hill wanted nothing to do with me when she found out who I was."

"Wait," she responds, slowly setting her hand on top of his. "Your dear Maria is Maria Hill? As in _Lieutenant_ Hill?"

Steve's eyes widen as the tips of his ears turn pink then he nods, suddenly feeling chastised for failing to mention that particular detail. "She's Deputy Director now."

Peggy whistles in approval. With a smirk, she teases, "She's hot."

"Very," comes Steve's immediate response, prompting yet another flush to spread across his features. "I mean, she's amazing."

"She is," Peggy agrees, this time with a serene smile despite the now serious eyes. "She's incredibly loyal. But she doesn't trust easily."

The warning isn't lost on Steve and he finds himself feeling amused. "I would've thought you'd be giving the threats on _my_ behalf."

Peggy tilts her head. "Oh, if it were anyone else, sure, but Maria… I met her back when she was young and green. Although, I suppose the Marines ensured she was no longer _green_ , if she ever was. We had a rather…unusual introduction — a story for another time – and I recruited her on the spot, her and, uh," she pauses. "What was his name," she mutters to herself, racking her brain for a name.

"Sully?" Steve supplies, clearing his throat. "Agent Robert Sullivan, I mean."

"Yes, that's the one. You've met?"

Steve smiled, recalling their first and second meeting. "We have. And I've been helping him with the recruits ever since."

"Oh?" Peggy raises an eyebrow. "Those two are thicker than thieves, brothers in arms and more."

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. "He had a field day, our first two meetings. He must've figured us out, or at least figured _me_ out because he went out of his way to do sweet, little things for Maria."

"You must've been so obviously jealous," Peggy laughs with him as he hangs his head with a sheepish look. "You've always been poor at hiding your emotions."

"And he took full advantage of it!" He jokingly lamented.

"And a drama queen too." Peggy's smile softens as she adds, "I'm sure James would've done the same thing for you with Maria. Or he would've at least _tried_." When Steve's face falls, she takes his hand in hers again. "I'm sorry."

"No, he, uh…" Steve swallows around the sudden lump at his throat. "He did, actually. Try, I mean."

"You mean with me?" Peggy asks. "Because as I recall, he was more bummed that I didn't notice him than he was about us," she jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Steve lets a small smile show at the memory. "I meant with Maria, but they ended up gushing about _you_ instead."

"What…" She pauses. "What are you talking about, Steve?"

He looks at her pleadingly, unsure how to spring the news on her except— "He's alive, Peg."

"Alive? As in…"

" _Alive_. He's been…" He trails off, considering how much to tell her. "He's been held captive by Hydra this whole time."

"Hydra? Bloody hell," she breathes out. "How is he?"

"They dosed him with a variant of the serum. That's how he survived the fall. He's not…100% right now," he pauses. "But he will be."

"And how are you?"

"I'm glad he's alive, really, I just wish it wasn't under these circumstances. Hydra was well-known for torture, experimentation… His return just comes with the realization that Hydra never actually died when I did in the ice. I just… I don't know."

"Look at the bright side, Steve. You got your best friend back," she ends her statement the way one would a question. Because while she's sure he's happy to have his Bucky back, he seems more weighed down at the thought.

"Did I?" He nearly snaps then immediately deflates right after. "He's so different now. But it's still him and I want him back. I… I _know_ it's still him."

"James was a good person and I imagine he always will be at his core. I know you mean well when you try to see him as your best mate but whatever happened to him in Hydra's hands, I'm sure a lot has changed for him too. You can't expect him to be the same man that fell off the train. You can't ask that of him, Steve."

"I know," Steve mutters, his head hung in guilt. Peggy always was perceptive. "It's just hard, sometimes, when I see him and he doesn't…see me. Doesn't _know_ me."

"You accepted me, as I am now" Peggy's smile was warm albeit a bit tearful. "Time has been much kinder to me than to either of you. I think…that in order for you to accept him as he is now, you'll have to forgive yourself."

Steve recoils, shock painted vividly across his features. "What?"

"Oh, Steve." A tear rolls down Peggy's cheek as she closes her eyes. "You've never forgiven yourself for his fall." She turns to him and reaches for his other hand too when she sees his tears. "It's not your fault, Steve. It never was."

Just as Steve exits Peggy's room, he notices a tall blonde woman approaching and greets her with a smile. "Sharon, it's nice to see you again."

"You too, Steve," she replies. "It's been a while."

"It has. Peggy's resting now, by the way. I'm sorry I took your time with her."

Sharon brushes off his apology. "How have you been?"

"I've been a bit…busy lately." Steve scratches at the back of his neck, unsure of just how much Sharon's been briefed of the situation.

"So have I," she sighs. "I've been tightly monitoring this facility in case they come after Aunt Peggy. So far it's been quiet but…" She shrugs, subtly trying to sweep her gaze across the expanse of the medical facility. "I just wish I could do more."

 _So she knows_ , Steve thinks, relieved at the fact that she's on their side before straightening back up at the suggestion that Peggy still remains a target for Hydra. He's reminded of his manners when he sees Sharon glance behind him.

"Right. Sharon, this is Sam Wilson aka Falcon. Sam, this is Sharon Carter, SHIELD's Agent 13."

 **\- x -**

Tony had suggested that Bucky undergo Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing or BARF to rid his mind of the trigger words Hydra had embedded into his mind.

"It's an extremely costly method of hijacking the hippocampus to clear traumatic memories. It doesn't change the fact that they never made it to the airport. Or all the things I did to avoid processing my grief," Tony had explained.

He'd given Bucky the choice to extend the treatment from his trigger words to his memories of being the Winter Soldier but the former assassin had declined, saying it wouldn't be fair to absolve him of that pain and guilt when none of the victims and their families got the justice they deserved. And if that caused some fluttering underneath Tony's arc reactor, he simply swallowed down the lump in his throat. Nobody has to know; all he had to do was ignore it.

After that, everything was all well and good except for one thing.

Ever since Pepper had told Rhodey about the more detailed history of the Winter Soldier, he has yet to leave Tony's side, especially when Bucky was around. Despite his slight bitterness at not being able to help after being left in the dark about his best friend's condition, Rhodey had kept up with his constant hovering and Tony has been going stir crazy no matter how much he appreciates his best friend's protective tendencies.

One time, Tony had arrived at the common room kitchen nearly crawling to the counter while mumbling, "Coffee," over and over again. He'd had another late night binge with Rhodey fast asleep on the couch in his workshop. A steaming mug of coffee appeared in front of him and he followed the arm – metal – that handed him his life force to a grinning Bucky Barnes.

"Life saver!" He exclaims, reaching for the mug that had somehow…disappeared?

Rhodey, the culprit, has snatched the mug out from under Tony's nose to sip at it, looking every bit like a taste-tester waiting for the effects of a poison to kick in as he keeps his gaze on Bucky. When nothing of the sort happened, he hands Tony the mug and warily accepts another.

"He's not going to jump me all of a sudden, Rhodey-bear."

"He looks like he might," Rhodey mutters, narrowed eyes focused on the man who had just scooped pancake batter onto the pan and was now whisking whipping cream, sugar, and vanilla while stealing glances at Tony.

"What, you think he's going to attack me with an electronic mixer? He's got a metal arm, for fuck's sake. A metal arm _I_ made, mind you."

"That's not what I meant." Rhodey glances at Tony and finds his best friend's face scrunched up in adorable, genuine confusion. He shakes his head, teasing, "And you call yourself a genius."

"I _am_ a genius," he counters indignantly and proceeds to list off his many academic accomplishments before he even graduated from MIT at age 17. "I built my first circuit board when the rest of the kids my age were still in diapers." Not true, he was four.

Rhodey keeps his attention on the other man's reaction to each sentence the genius uttered and notices his wide blue-gray eyes filled with unfettered awe. His brows furrow slightly at the thought that _this_ seemingly star struck-open book of a man standing across from them was _Hydra_ 's _assassin_ , the ghost responsible for multiple deaths – including Tony's parents' – in the last few decades.

Rhodey cuts off Tony's nonstop techno-babble about how he'd created DUM-E as a teenager. "Your pancakes are burning," he gestures to the breakfast Bucky was preparing and watches as the man he addressed ducks his head and hurriedly flips the pancakes to reveal a shade much darker than how pancakes are usually served.

"That's not so bad," Tony laughs, half trying to placate the now agitated Bucky and half remembering an incident from a couple of years ago.

Rhodey raises an eyebrow at him. "You _hate_ eating burnt food."

"I do," Tony nods. "But this isn't nearly as bad or have you forgotten that time you tried to surprise me with home-made cake for my birthday?"

"Nope, don't recall that ever happening." Rhodey shakes his head.

"You set the temperature to Fahrenheit on an oven that measures Celsius."

"Definitely not," Rhodey denies, keeping a blank face.

"Pepper and I ate through the whole cake, if you could even call it that, and washed it down with more beers than was healthy."

Rhodey petulantly crosses his arm – a colonel at the air force yet he never fails to revert to childhood antics with his man-child of a best friend. "Why did you even have an oven that functions on Celsius?"

"Don't look at me; blame Happy. I hadn't touched that oven before in my life." Tony glances at Bucky and feels a bit proud at seeing the relaxed smile on his face. "That is, until I had to use the fire extinguisher on it." When Rhodey just groans, Tony's smile turns into a full-on smirk as he teasingly pats Rhodey's cheek. "Anyway, it's okay to be jealous of my genius, Rhodey-bear."

Both Tony and Rhodey notice when the charming smile on Bucky's face suddenly drops at the pet name. Tony tilts his head in silent question but Rhodey narrows his eyes again. They watch Bucky stack the pancakes on a plate, place said plate in front of both men along with the syrup and butter, and then take two each of plates, forks, and knives to set in front of them. They barely hear him mutter something to excuse himself before he promptly leaves.

"What just happened?"

Rhodey leans back in his chair, his suspicions slowly getting confirmation. But instead of sharing his thoughts with his apparently oblivious buddy, he simply says, "Eat your food, Tones."

* * *

 _A/N: It was time for a pinch of Pepper, Peggy, and Rhodey, don't you think? Always happy I get to share this with you guys. Your continued support means a lot to me, and so does your feedback. Salamat x_


	23. Chapter 23

_Author's Notes: Okay, so I said January, right? Thought I'd make it an actual New Year's Eve present instead. Well, NYE in my timezone anyway. Almost three months since my last update and I can apologize over and over again about how late this is but I'm posting this chapter now instead of working on two of my deadlines so that has to mean something, right? Anyway, I hope your 2017 was kinder to you than mine was to me and that you enjoy this little update._

* * *

"What's wrong?" Maria asks upon opening the door to find Steve Rogers looking glum on the other side.

"It's nothing," he says, trying for a smile, but at her blank stare, he sighs. "I visited Peggy."

Maria tilts her head. "You told her about Barnes." She doesn't even wait for a response. She just opens her door wider and steps aside to let him in. "How did she take it?"

"As well as can be expected in her condition," he answers, moving towards her couch. "She's glad we have Bucky back but she didn't take it so well when she found out it was because of Hydra."

"I can't think of anyone who would," Maria agrees, sitting on the other end of the couch and patting her lap in invitation which Steve readily accepts. When he's settled with his head pillowed on her thighs, she soothingly cards her fingers through his hair and asks, "But what's really bugging you?" She was never one for beating around the bush.

He shifts to look at her from below. "It just feels so much like everything that's happened before was all for nothing." At her raised eyebrow, he tries to explain, "Her legacy and mine… All of the deaths and sacrifices then seem so inconsequential now after learning that Hydra's back, hiding in plain sight."

He's too absorbed in his regrets that he misses the way her hand freezes in his hair. He also misses how she looks away in guilt or shame or both because Hydra _has_ been hiding in plain sight all along, within SHIELD, right under her nose. When he speaks again, she resumes her ministrations, brushing her own feelings of inadequacy aside.

"The grief and mourning all those months after Bucky's death…" His brows furrow and his voice is laden with emotion. "I felt like my whole world was caving in when in fact, _his_ ordeal was a thousand times worse."

Again, her hand stills in his hair. "This isn't a contest, Steve; don't compare." Her voice is calm but the underlying chastisement isn't lost. "There wasn't anything you could've done about that; you all thought he'd died."

"But we could've looked harder. We could've found him," he nearly chokes at the last word.

"During the war? And on enemy territory?" She scoffs. "Just paint a huge red target on your back; it'll be easier." She shuts her eyes at her snappish tone but she won't apologize. Doing so would only reinforce Steve's tendency to let guilt eat him up and give him tunnel vision. Instead, she eases up on her instinct to antagonize. She cups Steve's jaw to make him look her in the eye and speaks with a softer tone this time. "You need to stop blaming yourself, Steve; Barnes certainly doesn't. You did the best you could with the cards you were dealt with. And sure, finding out that Hydra never actually died back then is terrible but you couldn't have known that would happen."

He shakes his head and sits up, his elbows resting on his knees. "There has to have been something…"

" _No_ , Steve. You were in the ice. The things that happened since then, and even before then, were out of your control." She pauses, feeling like this conversation is going nowhere so she tries for a different tactic. "You were quick to absolve Barnes of his sins while doing Hydra's bidding against his will. You tell him there's nothing to forgive. The same logic applies to you because none of this is your fault, not even Barnes' fall." She knows she's hit the nail when Steve bodily flinches. She slips her hand in his to get him to look at her. "You need to let go of that guilt; it's not yours to carry."

He sighs, "Easier said than done."

She gives him a sad smile, all too familiar with the feeling. "I know," she says, squeezing his hand. "But it might smooth things out with Barnes. No expectations, just acceptance." She lets that sink in for a few seconds before she lets his hand drop and moves to stand but Steve's hand suddenly closes around her wrist, gentle yet firm.

"Stay?"

She hesitates for a moment but his pleading eyes has her relenting, sitting closer to him this time that their shoulders and thighs are touching. He lets go of her wrist to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tuck her head under his chin. When she goes willingly, a contented sigh escapes him and he takes small liberties in rubbing up and down her back and pressing a light kiss on top of her head.

"You know, Peggy said the same thing to me."

"She's a smart woman," she mumbles to his chest. "Listen to her."

He smiles, remembering Peggy's reaction to finding out about just who the Maria he's been talking about actually is. "She also said to listen to you."

She lifts her head to look at him. "Why would she say that?" When he opens his mouth then closes it again, a noticeable pink tint coloring the tips of his ears, she lightly slaps at his chest. "You told her about us?"

"Not exactly. I didn't tell her about _you_ specifically but I've been telling her about _a_ Maria since I got back from Wheaton. She just…connected the dots." It's technically not a lie but he's not about to tell her she was only able to because he slipped and said her surname by accident.

"And?"

"She's very protective." When she looks away with a slight furrow in her brow, he adds, "Of you." Maria returns her gaze back to his and tilts her head in silent inquiry. "She gave me what I think you call the shovel talk." She gives him a disbelieving look but he just smiles at her, proud, amused, _happy_. "She said you had a rather unusual introduction. Tell me about it sometime?"

Peggy Carter is someone they both hold at the highest esteem, and with good reason. So with a fond smile, she leans in to give him a chaste yet lingering kiss. "I will," she says against his lips before settling back onto his chest and speaking with a voice just barely above a whisper. "I'm glad she approves."

"She doesn't need to but…" He trails off, his arms tightening around her. "Me too."

And for the first time since Bucky's return, he takes a deep breath and _lets go_.

 **\- x -**

"Hey, Buzz Lightyear." Bucky's head snaps up, brows furrowed in confusion. "I feel like going for a spin. You interested?"

"You kiddin'?" Bucky swivels around on his seat by the counter and his jaw drops at the sight of Tony in his sleek, form-fitting black undersuit with gray linings that only serve to accentuate the cuts and curves on his toned body. Even the glow of the arc reactor further highlights how good-looking the man is.

"A spin?" Clint asks right before taking notice of Tony's attire. "Hey, how come you never give _me_ rides on the suit?"

"I haul your careless ass from building to building all the time. And without warning, might I add." Tony says with feigned exasperation. Because yes, as irritating as it sometimes is to see Clint jump off buildings expecting to be caught, he finds that level of trust being placed on him, even if only on the battlefield, exhilarating and it warms him somewhere beneath his arc reactor.

Once Bucky wipes the drool from the side of his chin – figuratively, and maybe even literally, he's not ashamed to admit – he adds, "Plus, I make him coffee."

"And cook him breakfast," Clint mock-spits at him.

"I cook _all of you_ breakfast," comes Bucky's reply. "Even your lazy ass."

Clint seems to think this over and shrugs, "Food over flying. Sorry, Stark."

"I _pay_ for the food," Tony narrows his eyes and argues but Clint's attention is already on the breakfast platter in front of him. He turns to Bucky. "Meet you at the rooftop in 10?"

"You got it, Dollface." He's still grinning long after Tony's disappeared through the elevator doors and now he's tapping his fingers on the countertop from the excitement buzzing within his veins. It was only his years of practice that kept him from jumping from his seat when a voice suddenly speaks up from behind him.

"Bake him some red velvet cream cheese cupcakes or dark chocolate chip cookies or some truffle cheesecake and you'll have him eating out of the palm of your hand," comes Rhodey's unsolicited yet much appreciated advice.

He admittedly had been reluctant to let this thing between two men of metal grow without being sure that his best friend was _safe_. But he's seen how much Barnes had progressed in the last couple of months, not to mention Tony's been much happier despite being in denial and that's all he'd ever wished for his best friend.

So when Bucky merely blinks at him in surprise, he purses his lips to stifle a smile. He may approve of the other man, but that doesn't mean he'll make it easier for him. "Well, what are you still doing here? Tony doesn't like waiting." _But damn it, he'll wait for you._

Bucky doesn't need to be told twice for he's all but sprinting out of his chair before Rhodey even finishes his sentence.

Up on the rooftop, Bucky shows how much he wasn't kidding when he said before that Tony's suits take his breath away. He gets there just in time to watch the suit assemble itself around Tony's lithe form and he doesn't even realize he was doing so with his mouth hanging open.

Hovering above the floor in his full suit, Tony turns to Bucky, expecting the other man to be waiting to be mounted on his person. Instead, he finds him staring, eyes wide and mouth agape. He snaps the face plate open and teases, "You're drooling, Hot Stuff."

Bucky suddenly snaps back to himself and actually checks around his chin for drool. There's none and he feels the flush covering every inch of his skin at how he'd fallen for the trick. _Real smooth, Barnes,_ he internally chastises himself. But he hasn't done this in _a while_ so he cuts himself some slack.

"I just realized how much 'doll' fits you, seeing as you're perfect for playing dress-up," he drones, gesturing to Tony's suit-clad body.

"You like?" Tony asks, twirling in the air and batting his eyes, basically giving Bucky the all-clear to check him out. Not that he expects the guy to take him up on his offer, so Bucky's response surprises him a bit.

"Very much, doll," Bucky nearly purrs. "And don't think I didn't notice the tight undersuit you've got goin' on."

When they return nearly two hours later, Bucky looks flushed and his expression can only be described as one of _glee_. "The view from the top of the Brooklyn Bridge is fucking amazing."

Steve smiles that happy, innocent smile he does when he's pleased. "I take it the flight went well?"

"It was hard at first 'cause someone couldn't decide whether to stay atop me or under me," Tony absently comments as he struts in his undersuit toward the kitchen for a glass of water, unaware of the hungry eyes following his every move.

Maria rolls her lips inward to keep from smiling at the furrow in Steve's brow – one that her hands are itching to smooth. She shakes her head at how obvious the former assassin was being with his ogling and at how denial is a good look on neither Tony nor Bucky but who is she to burst their bubble?

Bucky grins, shrugging, "A little rough, I admit, but it's not my fault both positions appeal to me."

Tony remains nonchalant even as he raises an eyebrow and that's exactly what gives Natasha the idea that he's anything but, and she merely smirks at Rhodey's miserable groan. "Luckily, Mr. _Senior_ Homecoming found his rhythm," Tony says, lips twitching at the lighthearted jab about Bucky's – and Steve's – age.

"Thanks for the ride, Sweet Cheeks. Lady Liberty knows I enjoyed it." Bucky winks at Tony, who guffaws at how filthy their flirtation can get. Only at Bucky's wicked grin does Steve finally get clued in on the innuendo.

"Aw, Buck," comes Steve's groan.

A little over an hour later, Rhodey goes up to his unit but pauses outside his door where he finds a plate piled high with freshly-baked, mouth-watering lemon squares sitting atop a boxed, miniature War Machine action figure. When he picks both items up, a note falls away.

" _Tony didn't want to share his dark chocolate chip cookies but I heard you prefer sour over sweet. Thank you_." is scrawled on it in carefree yet elegant old script.

He couldn't stop the silly grin as he whispers, "Go get 'im, Tones."

 **\- x -**

May, Amador, Sully, and Carter lead their respective vetted SHIELD teams to flush out the rest of the rank and file Hydra plants. And with more of the double agents dealt with accordingly, Natasha and Nick effectively put a hamper on Project INSIGHT at 38% completion. Natasha thanks whatever deities may be listening that she hadn't needed to use Maria's overwrite code.

"May, Amador, I want you leading security teams for Project INSIGHT. We may have flushed them out for now but we don't know what else they have planned. I need people I can trust here on the ground," Fury orders then turns to May. "And don't tell me you're admin."

Melinda gives him the side eye but nods anyway. Fury doesn't take offense; after all, Phil was the only one who could get her to openly talk after Bahrain. Akela's lips twitch at May's response before she schools her own features.

"No one in or out without yours or Hill's explicit orders," she affirms.

"Sullivan?"

"Yes, Sir. Nakamura's got Field Ops under control and we know how thorough she is. Those in Academy Ops are a little trickier but Espinoza's confident. Plus, the strict limited access imposed on our cadets certainly helps our case."

"Good. Keep at it." He looks around and realizes one agent is missing. "And Carter?"

Natasha answers, "She can't leave the facility but she checked in about an hour ago. Nothing. Everyone – from the specialists to the staff – is clean."

"What's left?"

"STRIKE," she pauses and watches Nick's reaction. "And Pierce."

Fury doesn't even blink but the brief pause he takes before nodding and dismissing everyone else is enough to hint at how much this betrayal is affecting him. "Take Barton with you. And keep another Avenger on the retainer. We all know Rumlow likes to play dirty."

Not even an hour passes before Maria gets the official order out to the concerned parties, namely, STRIKE team including the Black Widow and Hawkeye. The order details a recent sighting of a man they believe to be the Winter Soldier in an abandoned warehouse near the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal and his resurfacing is causing SHIELD's alarm bells blaring. The intel may not be definitive but the part about the metal arm is unmistakable and it surely has STRIKE team on edge. The mission statement also places the Black Widow as the team lead in the arrest of the assassin and that they are to resort to extreme courses of action if and only if the circumstances warrant them.

Once they've fully surrounded the warehouse, with every exit secured, a familiar voice suddenly booms into their comms.

"Surprise!"

"Stark?" Rumlow hisses, annoyance not even hidden in his voice.

Natasha watches Rumlow from the corner of her eye. "What are you doing, Tony?"

"I was bored."

The clenching of Rumlow's jaw is unmistakable even in the dim light as his head turns this way and that. "Where the hell are you, Stark?"

"Around," the genius evasively answers.

"Didn't Pepper say you had a board meeting to attend?"

"You were undercover there for months. Why do you think I was bored?"

Clint snorts. "Does she even know you bailed?"

"I didn't _bail_ , Birdbrain. I was there for, like, 16 minutes and 48 seconds – a new record for me. You know, I made Pep my CEO for a reason. Just because it's _my_ name on the brand, doesn't mean her word weighs any less than mine. I'm practically just R &D and she's everything else. Ooh! I should make that statement and let—"

"Tony," Natasha interrupts with a warning tone.

"Right."

Clint, however, continues on. "How did you even get out of your meeting?"

"I had JARVIS call me for an emergency." Some static can be heard from Tony's end of the conversation. "Sorry about that. Anyway, he may have namedropped Captain America—Now, I know I shouldn't have done that but I just _had_ to get out of there and no one ever gives me crap if it's for _Il Capitano_."

"And you know of this mission because?"

"I hacked into SHIELD, obviously." The twin assassins could almost _hear_ his eyeroll through their comms. "I told eye-patch he needed an upgrade but he didn't listen."

Rumlow takes his comms out briefly to ask Natasha, "What the hell is he even doing here?"

But she just shrugs. "Who knows how his brain works, really?"

"I heard that," he singsongs. "And I'm here to help, sourpuss. So, what's our game plan with this elusive Winter Soldier? Do we arrive at his doorstep and knock or do we shoot first, ask questions later? Why does he even call himself the 'Winter Soldier'? So glum."

Natasha sighs and shakes her head in exasperation. "Just follow my lead, okay?"

"Depends. Will you be leaving me breadcrumbs? Or should I say, _web_ crumbs? No, wait, that's not right—"

She groans and signals for the team to enter all at once like they've done numerous times in the past for training and other missions. And what they find inside is the Winter Soldier himself in full gear sitting calmly on a lone chair smack dab in the middle of the empty warehouse.

* * *

 _A/N: Why is Bucky there? Why is he alone? What's gonna happen? Why is Tony even there? I'm sure some of you can guess but it seems as good a time as any to end this chapter. Thoughts? Rants? Well-wishes?_


	24. Chapter 24

_Author's Notes: Posting today to mark my second anniversary in ao3 (almost 10 for , wow). It's not much but I never thought I'd go back to fic-writing after my teens but here I am. Thanks for all the support! Anyway, the end of this fic is drawing near. I know it because my last chapter is more or less ready but I haven't actually written the chapter/s leading to it. I hope it's been as entertaining a journey for you as it was for me. Wow, so…final._

* * *

 _What they find inside is the Winter Soldier himself in full gear sitting calmly on a lone chair smack dab in the middle of the empty warehouse._

Natasha could hear Rumlow's sudden exhale and it irks her how unsure she is right now if it's a positive or negative reaction. "He's outnumbered. Apprehend, do _not_ engage unless necessary," she says quietly into her comms from a distance most assume is out of the Soldier's earshot. Of course, she knows better.

They approach cautiously until he's completely surrounded but he stays unmoving, head still bowed down, the curtain of his hair obscuring his features, and his posture not even the least bit tense.

Brock Rumlow has seen how the Winter Soldier could retaliate so he keeps what he believes is a safe distance away from the _Asset._

"Soldat?" _Soldier?_

"Ready to comply _._ "

English. That should've been Rumlow's first clue because suddenly the _soldier_ looks up, letting the dim light reveal the lower half of his face to show him baring his teeth in a feral, almost bloodthirsty grin, right before faint whirring can be heard and bright blue lights turn on from the walls lining the warehouse.

The lights are disorienting, distracting Rumlow enough to turn his head away from the assassin in front of him. He realizes his mistake a second late. Suddenly, his grip slackens, his arms fall to his side, and his gun drops. The sounds of metal on concrete resounds around the warehouse, followed by the charge and impact of Iron Man's repulsors and the thump of the bodies of the rest of the STRIKE team.

"Hydra is _no more_ ," Bucky says right into Rumlow's ear.

"Cut off one head—" He starts but Bucky doesn't let him finish.

"Oh, I'm not cutting yours off. But soon, it'll be all that's left of you," Bucky snarls just as he digs the knife deeper into the bottom of Rumlow's nape.

 **\- x -**

Maria and Nick are nestled securely in their respective positions according to plan, waiting to give orders out to the vetted SHIELD agents surrounding the compound of Pierce's property. All alarm systems within have been disabled by the Winter Soldier himself when he'd arrived mere minutes earlier than they did to deliver the very special gift he had for Pierce himself – a gift they'd only been informed of after Bucky called Maria to tell her about it in a gruff, broken voice, wracked with vengeance and shame, bloodlust and guilt.

Bucky's regular BARF sessions have ensured that he has control over his life in a general sense. But in instances of pure desperation like fighting for his survival, facing off Hydra scum, and dealing with extreme pain, it's like the Soldier takes over to allow Bucky some reprieve and to keep him alive. To keep them both alive.

Steve, whose enhanced hearing allowed him to hear the entire conversation, stands at the doorstep and yet he can't bring himself to go in. He is so on edge that he can feel every muscle in his body itching to twitch so he clenches his fists on his sides, so tightly there are sure to be half-moon dents on his palms, until he feels a gentle hand slip on the inside of his elbow then down his forearm, waiting for his fist to open.

With their fingers now intertwined, he looks to his side at Maria's profile. Her face remains a cool mask of professionalism and indifference but he feels her warmth in the way she briefly squeezes his hand. When she turns her head to look at him with a raised eyebrow, there is no doubt that she knows he heard and there is no judgment should he feel the need to back down.

"Can you do this?" _Can you accept this part of him enough to put an end to what caused it?_

All he can do is release the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and nod even as he recalls how he ended up here in the first place.

 _"_ _Buck, are you sure you want to go back to the people who…" Steve trails off with a frown. "Are you sure?"_

 _"_ _I am. If it means Hydra's going down, then I'm gonna be part of it; I_ need _to be." A slight growl can be heard for emphasis before he clears his throat. "Don't worry, I won't be alone."_

 _"_ _That's right," he agrees, placing a hand on his pal's shoulder. "Because I'm coming with you."_

 _Maria's no-nonsense tone interjects before Bucky even opens his mouth. "You know you can't do that, Rogers."_

 _"_ _And I can't let him do this alone."_

 _"_ _You heard the man; he won't be."_

 _"_ _But—"_

 _Knowing what he's really worried about, Maria looks him straight in the eye. "_ Steve _." The way she says his name is enough to shut him up. It was by no means harsh but it was firm, arguably with a hint of gentleness. "You can't go together."_

 _"_ _We don't know if Hydra has another plan up their sleeves and we can't have both supersoldiers in the same place in case they stage a more elaborate extraction," Nick adds his two cents._

 _And Natasha hits the last nail on the matter. "You and James need to decide who's going with which group."_

 _Steve sighs, already knowing which team Bucky would want to join. He looks at Bucky then lets his eyes flit across the rest of the Avengers who have remained silent throughout the conversation. Thor looks beyond confused, adorable even, and Bruce looks edgy with a bit of green escaping into his irises and temples; but neither of these two hard-hitters will be aiding in the plan except as last resort back-ups when all hell breaks loose. Clint's body language is relaxed in his position reclined on the couch but the constant physical contact Natasha has on him is as much a testament to how tense he really is. He pauses briefly at the sight of Tony who's seated beside his best friend, looking bored more than anything, like he wants nothing more than to do one of the million other things on his plate. He almost feels offended before he notices the way the genius' body is angled toward his best friend with his knee pressed against the latter's thigh to keep him grounded._

 _"_ _Bucky?"_

 _"_ _I know you wanna be in the thick of the fight, Stevie, but let me do this. This is something I need to do." It only takes a few seconds for Steve to mull it over so at his nod, Bucky straightens up. "Deal with Pierce for me."_

Pierce receives a rather unorthodox gift when he wakes in the middle of the night in need of a drink. Rumlow is sprawled on his kitchen floor, back against the fridge door, with a thin yet undoubtedly sharp knife sticking out from just below his bloody neck.

"P—Pierce," he whispers as he wheezes. Paralyzed from the bottom of his neck down, Barnes wasn't lying – now, his head is the only thing left of him.

Upon closer inspection, Pierce notices that instead of blood, the incapacitated man is seated in a pool of white liquid – the smell of which he belatedly recognizes as milk, but only after he sees the empty carton on the counter, a sticky note on the side.

" _Want some milk?_ "

His mind flashes back to when the Winter Soldier was last in his kitchen and his face contorts with the intensity of his emotions, at the forefront of which is anger, cursing as he crumples the note.

"Something wrong, Pierce?" Steve suddenly asks, stepping out from the shadows. He has to hand it to the older man; he doesn't even jump.

"Captain Rogers," he simply greets as he turns to face the intruder in his home. "Is this the kind of people you run with nowadays?" He asks, pulling the knife out from Rumlow's neck and raising it to show the blood now covering it.

Steve's eyes flit to the mess on the floor that Pierce's body no longer covers. Rumlow wheezes, forcing in the last few breaths as blood gushes out from his wound. It's a mess a large part of Steve wants to feel sorry for but the tiny, vindictive part of him thinks it's rather merciful given Rumlow's supposed rap sheet. Pierce shouldn't even be allowed the same mercy.

"No," he says, turning his gaze back to Pierce. "This is what you made. And it's more than what you deserve."

"Oh? And what do I deserve? Or will you claim the moral high ground?" His eyes flash as a smug smile lights up his face in the most twisted of ways. When Steve doesn't answer, he tuts. "I expected more from _Captain America_ ," he says, the title dripping with such disdain.

"Well, I'm not Captain America tonight," Steve responds as he raises his arm and shoots.

 **\- x -**

"There's still a lot left to do but this might actually be it for Hydra, Peg," Steve says, a proud yet somehow sad smile gracing his features. "I still can't believe everything we did back then was—"

"Steve," Peggy softly interrupts, reaching for his hand. "Leave the past where it belongs. This is yet another victory and there is so much to look forward to in the future. For all of us, especially for James."

Steve's smile brightens. "He's actually here, Peg. Tony too. They're just outside the door. Would you like to meet him?"

"A second first meeting?" Peggy chuckles. "Why not?"

Tony enters first, greeting his godmother with an affectionately loud kiss on the cheek before taking a seat on the bed beside her with an arm thrown over her shoulders, followed by a newly-groomed Bucky. He's decided to keep his hair long but the trim makes it look taken care of and healthy despite being piled up into a messy bun with a few errant strands framing his face.

"James," Peggy says in the same teasing tone she used to say it, back when he still hated being called anything but Bucky.

"Margaret," Bucky's voice rumbles. "I see you've grown older."

"And I see you haven't." They have a bit of a stare-down before Peggy's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Come here, you old bloke."

Bucky grins on his way to her bedside, leaning against Tony's knees as he clasps Peggy's proffered hand in his. "I don't think you're in the position to call anyone old."

"Buck," Steve says, shaking his head with a grin despite the warning tone.

"Don't be mean, Cupcake." Tony backhands his abdomen then frowns. "Are you wearing gear under that sweater?"

Bucky blinks, looking down at where Tony's hand had been before looking up at him from beneath his lashes, smirk in place. "That's all me, Doll. Most people call it muscles. Thought you were some kin'a genius?"

"Ha, ha," Tony replies with an eye-roll despite the pink dusting the tips of his ears.

"If you'd actually spar with us a few times, you might develop 'em."

A big, fat lie. He may not have seen the genius shirtless, let alone naked, but all those years of working with heavy hardware and everything that came before and after superhero territory certainly left him lean and scrumptiously sculpted, if his skintight undersuits are any indication.

Tony's jaw just about drops before he sputters, "Did you just call me _fat_?" Bucky simply widens his eyes, tilting his head a little in a perfect picture of innocence. "Excuse my lack of a superhuman physique, Frosty. I may have leftover squishy bits but I do have muscles, hard ones too at that."

Oh, he _knows_. Bucky's spine straightens, eyes widening minutely. "Well," he says, ducking his head and letting a few stray strands of hair cast shadows over his eyes. "I guess I'll have to see it to believe it."

The look he gives Tony could not have been any more obvious and suddenly it's like the world has faded away, leaving just the two of them. The only thing that breaks the spell is Peggy's laughter – almost uproarious or the closest to it she could muster in her condition – at how Steve has gone all red now.

Once Bucky and Steve have left, Peggy smiles at Tony like the Cheshire cat – a smile Tony remembers quite well whenever Peggy would let him in on a secret or would sweep in and take him on adventures far away from Howard. He's suddenly excited but also nervous because it's a smile he hasn't seen since she's been in this facility.

"Send me an invitation."

"To what?"

"The wedding."

"What wedding?" He asks in honest confusion before he squints in suspicion. " _Whose_ wedding?"

"I may be old but I know you, Anthony."

"No, we're, uh—We're _not_."

"Maybe not, but you will be."

"Aunt Peggy," he whines, because whenever he's with her, it's like he's _young_ again.

"Alright, maybe the wedding was a bit much, but I'll settle for the first kiss I'm sure won't be the last." She smiles sweetly, affection for her godson coming off of her in spades. "You'll tell me?"

The first time he'd entered a relationship, it was with a sweet boy in boarding school who was five years his senior but was in the same class, genius that he was. It was all hush-hush but he'd told both Ana and Edwin Jarvis right away, and then his Aunt Peggy. They'd been supportive of him, happy for him with every Jane or John that came after – except for his dysfunctional relationship with Stone whom they'd blatantly disapproved of, even if they remained silent. He'd even spoken about Pepper – his assistant turned CEO turned girlfriend turned fiancée turned one of his best friends turned family by choice – and his fears that if someone as perfect as she is couldn't last long in a relationship with him, then no one would.

"Of course," he says because there really isn't any other answer. " _If_ it ever happens."

"Oh, believe me, it will," she smiles knowingly. "I hope you figure things out before little old me kicks the bucket."

"Don't say that," he chastises before planting a soft kiss on her temple. He then stands up, fluffs her pillows, and moves to the chair by the bed so she could rest more comfortably.

"It's true. I'm old, Anthony, and a bit tired. I'm far from my physical prime."

"Nonsense! You're the most beautiful lady here," he says, pulling his chair up by the bed, resting his chin on his hands, and innocently batting his eyes at her.

She just raises an eyebrow, chuckling at his antics, before a serious expression replaces it. She cups his downy cheek in her hand, thumb caressing it gently as she says, "Time took my super soldier away. Don't let your fears take yours."

 **\- x -**

Tony has long since disabled all the triggers left in Bucky's arm and in the rest of his system. But he's determined to make the super soldier's life better. For the past couple of weeks, he's kept up with working on Bucky's arm in between Stark Industries and Avengers duties, polishing it as he goes and learning more and more about the other man in the process.

When he shows the latest version to the super soldier himself, he realizes he's never really been this nervous about his creations. Not since he's given up on trying to impress dear old dad. But Bucky was every bit of gracious in his acceptance and praise of Tony's work as well as in matching Tony word for word with incessant flirtation.

Even after having undergone BARF, Bucky sometimes finds the onslaught of memories so overwhelming – shifting from the Stark Expo he'd taken Steve to back in the 40s to white coats he could barely recognize to unfathomable pain in his arm and head and—

Tony, who is no stranger to PTSD, takes it in stride the few times it's happened. He gently touches Bucky's flesh arm to ground him while whispering that he was fine, taking deep breaths with him, and telling him that the past, no matter how overwhelming, stays in the past. He remembers what Pepper used to do for him and while he knows it didn't always work, he couldn't let the man go through this without at least letting him know that he was not alone. Not anymore.

Tony's just finished fitting Bucky with the new and improved arm, Mark 4.2 now — lighter, painless, stronger, more durable. The .2 pertaining to the latest version being equipped with repulsor technology in the palm because one, the genius simply couldn't resist, and two, Bucky always has this awed, glazed-over look in his eyes whenever he watches Tony fighting as Iron Man so why not let the man experience it for himself?

Bucky is still seated on one of the work tables with AC/DC blaring through the speakers of Tony's workshop. He stares in wonder at the new arm, particularly at the bluish glow visible in the linings leading to the repulsor tech. He hadn't asked for it but now that it was here, he couldn't come up with a reason why he never did. And he couldn't help the rush he felt at what he chooses to interpret as a blatant marking of territory. So instead of second-guessing himself like he usually does, he finally takes a chance and braces himself for the impact.

He puts his flesh hand on Tony's hip where his grease-splattered tank top has ridden up and pulls to have Tony stand between his legs. He lays his metal hand on Tony's cheek before moving in to kiss him, slowly to allow him a chance to refuse the advance.

When he feels Bucky's breath on his lips, Tony firmly plants his hand on the other man's chest and Bucky's head hangs low, disappointed but understanding. How could Tony want damaged goods when he could have just about anyone he wanted? He looks up and sees Tony leaning back but still in his space, eyes wide with surprise and longing. Tony didn't think all the time they'd spent flirting meant anything, at least not to Bucky Barnes. Because to him, god, did he wish it were all real.

"I've been watching you, Antoshka," he says softly, the endearment falling unexpected yet smoothly from his lips. "I thought you wanted this too." Tony looks down, shaking his head. "Is it because I'm a man?"

"No," comes the genius' immediate answer as his head snaps up, hands frantically moving to emphasize his point. "That hasn't been an issue since I turned 18 and got out from under my _dear old dad_ 's control."

Every time they talk about his parents, it's always with affection and longing for Maria, sarcasm and bitterness for Howard. He hasn't exactly been secretive of his opinion on his father. Bucky didn't plan on bringing it up unless Tony did and this seemed opportunity enough.

"Howard must've taken it out on you."

"What?"

"Nobody ever said it back then but I know what I saw. I'm not sure if it was already a thing for him even before Steve but…"

Tony's gaze went back and forth between Bucky's eyes in search of confirmation that what he's reading between the lines is true. "So that's why he spent all those years searching for Captain America instead of being a husband and a father? He got so much worse when he found out his only son was bumping uglies with Tiberius Stone."

"Stone?" Bucky's brows furrow. He wasn't awake for much of Tony's life but— "Wasn't he an enemy of the Starks?"

Tony opens his mouth and closes it again, brows furrowed over the fact that Bucky would know such a fact but he lets it slide. "Yes, and a dick, but that's not the point."

"I know."

"He took it out on me because he was...jealous?"

"Howard was a good man back in the day. I've spent some nights drinking with him and the boys. But he was proud. Maybe even too proud."

"So his resentment grew more because not only did I grow up a genius too, but I was reckless enough to do what he couldn't?"

"You were reckless about a lot of things but never about that. You were brave. And no matter the self-hate—"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't deny it, Dollface; takes one to know one," Bucky explains with a small, bitter smile. When Tony reluctantly nods, he continues, "Despite the self-hatred, you accepted yourself and you went after what you wanted, _who_ you wanted. I like that about you." He brushes his thumb across Tony's grease-stained cheek, finding the way Tony's hair was sticking up all over the place endearing.

Still, Tony takes a step back. "You've become a…friend, James. I don't think I can do casual with you."

"Who said anything about casual?" Bucky asks, his thumbs gently rubbing at the spots where they lay.

Tony releases a breath, a cross between a huff and a scoff. "You don't want a relationship with me. I fucked up the last relationship I had."

"Pepper, right? You're still friends, best friends, seems like. Can't have fucked up that badly if you stay friends."

"I love her. She was the most perfect person anyone could ever ask for and she loved me. _Me_. She _loves_ me. But I'm quite the handful."

Bucky lets a bitter laugh escape and moves to rest his other hand along Tony's waist. "And I'm not?" He watches as Tony opens and closes his mouth but no sound comes out. "I'm beyond fucked up, Tony."

"Yeah, well, so am I."

"Maybe what you need is someone more fucked up."

Tony shakes his head even as a tiny smile curls along his lips. "Just as fucked up as I am," he offers as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind Bucky's ear.

"Yeah?"

Tony chuckles, "We're using an awful lot of 'fucks' here."

"Not the kind I want." He mumbles, smirking when Tony's eyes grew wide, ears turning red, but he's giving Bucky a wicked smile and a gentle tug on his hair that has Bucky leaning towards his touch. "Alright, I'll give. Maybe we both fit so we can build each other back up. You've been doing that for me since I got here; I don't think you've even noticed. If I can give back even half of what you've given me, then I'd like to try. For however long that takes, as long as you'd let me." _All in for the long haul._

"Are you sure about this, James?"

Bucky hums, his eyes lighting up. "You called me by my name."

"What?"

"I love your little nicknames but I love the way you say my name. How you look when you say it," he trails off. Fingers mapping out Tony's features from his forehead down to his jaw, before he brushes a kiss on his ear, whispering, "How your voice sounds." His metal hand tightens where it rests on Tony's hip, cool metal warming up from the heat of his skin, eliciting a strangled sound from the back of his throat. Bucky pulls back to look the other man in the eye. "I've been sure for a very long time, Tony."

Tony couldn't stop his grin from spreading even if he wanted to. And he didn't want to. Seeing Bucky in the same situation he was in makes the area beneath his arc reactor swell. "You're an old fucking sap."

"That's no way to talk to your elders, Antoshka," Bucky deadpans before they both burst into laughter.

"Clint."

The archer jerks, narrowly missing the bar above his head that would've alerted both men inside the workshop of his presence, and straightens up quickly upon hearing Maria's sharp, admonishing voice. "But they're—"

"None of our business," she reprimands, pulling Clint away by his elbow as he petulantly tries to look back. She manages to keep her statement monotonous despite the smile forming on her face.

* * *

 _A/N: I have no medical background of any kind and I'm not sure if a knife wound straight to a person's spinal cord means an immediate death or if it could make her/him quadriplegic but for the sake of this fic, let's assume it's the latter, k?_

 _Btw, HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY!_


	25. Chapter 25

_Author's Notes: Oh, lordy, I have forsaken you. My last update was in March 8. MARCH 8! (Come on, Thea, you're better than that.) I really can't catch a break with this thing we call life. Having two jobs plus school is overwhelming enough without other shit trying to eat me alive. Anyway, hope you appreciate this attempt at writing again._

* * *

"…As much as it pains me to have woken up to a world where Hydra remained powerful in the shadows…"

Pierce wakes to the cadence of Captain America's voice filtering through the speakers before he even opens his eyes. He sits up, tired and weary, with nothing but his usual poise despite hunger and exhaustion; a man like him will sooner die than give up his pride. SHIELD, or what was left of it, had been itching to let him rot slowly and surely while subjecting him to the inhumane (post-serum) treatment the Winter Soldier went through with Hydra but Bucky Barnes would have none of it.

 _"_ _No. That's what_ they _did to_ me _. If we do that, then we ain't no better than them," Bucky says, leaving both Iron Man and Captain America metaphorically puffing out their chests in pride. When Fury simply stares at him, as if waiting for that god-forsaken 'but', Bucky turns to Maria Hill whose jaw might come loose any time now with how hard she's clenching it._

 _"_ _He's right," she simply says, much to Fury's disappointment. "We've done a lot of shady shit in the past and I still can't help wondering how much influence Hydra has had on those, even over projects headed by people we've vetted and confirmed as clean."_

 _"_ _We're working on that."_

 _She acknowledges her boss with a half-nod, half-tilt of her head. "We're on uncharted territory now with how vulnerable SHIELD is, given these changes, so we need to secure our foundations first, what we stand for. Draw the line before we consider toeing it."_

 _A silence washes over all the occupants in the room. Fury takes a deep breath and sighs, walking menacingly towards Maria before he stands in front of her, lazily yet seriously saluting. "Aye, aye, Director," he says with a tired half-smile and a look in his eye that practically says, 'Make me proud.'_

 _Her brows furrow. "What?"_

 _"_ _Seeing you in your element, around people who not only respect you but would gladly go to war for you, with you, and hearing your little speech—which, I must say, could've just as easily come from Captain America himself… SHIELD needs to re-establish its roots and it needs a new leader for that. I couldn't think of anyone better-suited for that job than the rookie Director Carter and I found in the middle of a post-battle wasteland carrying a grown man nearly twice her size because she couldn't let a brother die if she could do something about it."_

 _Maria blinks once, twice, then clears her throat. "You're retiring?"_

 _"_ _In light of what's happened with Pierce, the World Security Council has invited me to take his seat at the table. I was reluctant at first, but I know SHIELD will be in good hands. I think they all agree," he says, gesturing to the rest of the room and receiving nods in return._

 _"_ _But…" Maria trails off, wide-eyed and uncharacteristically unsure._

 _"_ _Pierce was talking about legacies and all that bullshit when we locked him up." He lays his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. "You're the best one I could think of, kiddo."_

 _Tony's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the show of affection from two of the most stoic people he has ever encountered. He looks around to see if he's suddenly asleep and dreaming but he sees Bruce's surprised calm and interest, Clint's choked-up expression, Natasha's genuine smile in place of her usual smirk, Steve's embarrassing heart eyes, and Bucky's soft smile with one hand on Steve's shoulder and the other secure in Tony's grip._

 _"_ _You're all seeing this, right?" Tony whispers. "This is really happening."_

 _Bucky lifts his and Tony's joined hands to plant a soft kiss on his beloved's knuckles. "It is."_

The screen on his left that was nothing but a dull, blank wall in the past week switches on and he snarls as the image of Captain America standing behind a podium in full Avenger regalia fills his senses.

"…I'm glad I'm still here to fight them, hopefully with the rest of the world…"

He gets to watch his entire legacy fall apart while he's helpless in solitary confinement. The video changes to show him clips of Malick and the rest of the high-ranking Hydra plants in the U.S. government getting arrested, including Senator Stern who's apparently not only been a thorn on Tony Stark's side but a Hydra plant too. The video then fades back to a close-up view of red, white, and blue.

"…I know I'm asking a lot but the price of freedom is high; it always has been. It's a price I'm willing to pay."

Pierce snarls, muttering, "Price of freedom."

"…And if I'm the only one, then so be it..."

"You don't know the world anymore, _Captain_ ," he spits the title like venom. "We were trying to change it."

The camera shows him looking behind him so it pans across the stage to show the rest of the Avengers. "…But I'm willing to bet I'm not." The cameras don't catch the way his gaze lingers on a woman dressed in all black, hair down for once, determined to stay in the shadows despite the blistering sun.

 **\- x -**

Cannons controlled by a single algorithm designed for genocide…these were the first to go when Project INSIGHT got the go ahead once again with a number of Stark-secured modifications. After all, helicarriers like the one they had during the Chitauri invasion are incredibly useful for SHIELD, especially now in the attempts to rehabilitate its population.

During the Avengers' downtime, they seek and destroy all known Hydra cells and look for more with the help of Bucky, who endlessly flirts with a ready and willing Tony Stark in their comms, much to some people's amusement and others' frustration (Rhodey) at their little dance or exasperation (Steve) at their shamelessness with regard to private matters (read: sex).

After rigorous surveillance from trusted SHIELD teams deployed the moment Hydra's continued existence was confirmed and after they've exhausted all relevant intel from cells and hideouts known to Hydra, they finally head to Siberia – where it all started and where they find more Soldiers shot point blank between their eyes while asleep inside their tanks.

"I thought we were here for the chair?"

"How did you know to find them?" Steve asks.

Bucky frowns, confused and frustrated at his own memories. "We are, and I…didn't. But I think," he pauses, lifting a hand to rest on the amber glass between him and one of the soldiers. "I remember fighting them."

The others exchange glances. "With or against?" Natasha asks, needing confirmation despite her own speculation.

Bucky closes his eyes, silent for a minute before he responds, "Against. I was tasked to protect the handlers when they would go berserk, and they always did. Destroyed everything in their path, couldn't take orders, couldn't be controlled…" Neither of the rest of the Avengers doubted the ' _unlike me_ ' that followed where Bucky trailed off with a voice heavier than concrete. "Maybe that's why Hydra killed them."

"Hey, Buckaroo?" Comes Tony's slightly mechanical voice.

Bucky shakes himself back to the present before he goes down memory lane. "Yeah, Tony?"

"JARVIS found where they stashed it. Wanna pound on it until it breaks?" Tony asks lightly, wanting nothing but to take Bucky far, far away from this nightmarish place. He's edgy, ready to spring into action should Bucky ask to leave and fly away but that's the thing – Bucky needs to make this decision himself.

Bucky, who has been dreading coming back here for this exact reason, masks his emotions with a lewd joke. "I sure wanna break it but it's not what I wanna be poundin' on."

"Or who," Clint snickers, recognizing the assassin's attempt for what it is.

"Aww, you say the nicest things, Gumdrop."

"Only for you, Dollface."

"Chatter."

"Oh, come on, Cap! You're just jealous because Maria doesn't let you engage in dirty talk," Tony pouts through his HUD.

"Don't I?" Comes Maria's unexpected response, apparently uncaring if her little tease sort of confirms for the rest of the team what her relationship status with a certain national hero is.

"Wha—Oh my _god_. _Do you_? Does she?!" Tony nearly shrieks through the comms, much to everyone's chagrin if the collective groans were any indication. "Nooooooo," he whines when he gets nothing further. "Now I _need_ to know. Tell meeeeee," he obnoxiously extends the last vowel sound until the need for air cuts it off.

"I can't believe I'm being the adult here but let me just remind you that we're on a mission?" Clint reprimands lightly but couldn't resist adding, "But seeing as Cap's pretty much a ripe tomato in a cowl, I'd wager there's some truth to that."

Tony and Bucky let out matching howls of laughter and victory.

"You are all children," Maria mutters but the smile on her face was evident in the way she uttered the words. Just as the laughter dies down, faint but insistent meowing filters through Maria's side of the comms.

"Aww," Steve coos. "Is Milkshake hungry?"

"I don't know." Maria nearly purrs, "Are you?"

Silence.

Then Steve smirks. "For you? Always."

Tony groans, retracting his faceplate just to pout at a smirking Natasha. "Aww. You know it's not fun when he's no longer embarrassed." He turns his pout to Bucky who simply smiles fondly at him.

Once the Hydra base has been secured and wrapped up with the arrival of the SHIELD clean-up crew, the Avengers start making their way back to the quinjet, shedding masks, cowls, and helmets along the way.

Bruce and Thor stayed inside the quinjet as back-up should things escalate. They pause in their jovial discussion about how the Hulk might enjoy meeting Thor's pet bilgesnipe, Bilgy, to greet the rest of their team. Clint resumes his earlier position in the cockpit with Natasha right beside him. Steve sits opposite of where Bucky heavily drops down; he's worried about his best pal but has learned to be a little less overbearing with his hovering. He watches as Tony, now out of the suit, lays a hand on Bucky's shoulder while trying to maintain a pretense of levity.

"I have to say, getting the big bad seems so anticlimactic now." The genius goes willingly when a cool metal arm rounds his waist and pulls him to sit sideways on a lap. Bucky buries his face into Tony's chest and breathes deeply. Tony's fingers automatically card through long brown locks of hair, massaging the scalp as he goes.

Natasha rolls her eyes, not bothering to look away from the view of the horizon as the quinjet starts its ascent. "That's what happens when you've got a good plan in motion."

"Well, I usually just have one plan: Attack." Tony feels the arms wrapped around him tighten in silent reprimand.

Clint snorts. "How the hell is your company still standing?"

JARVIS unexpectedly interjects, "Easy, one Virginia 'Pepper' Potts."

"Agreed," comes Natasha's reply, her tone hinting at no ounce of uncertainty.

Steve shakes his head fondly as Tony chuckles. "Betrayed by my own creation."

"I only speak the truth, Sir," JARVIS explains. "You should listen to me; you did say I'm the best."

"Of course, you are; I created you."

"A great teacher has always been measured by the number of his students who have surpassed him."

Tony squawks. "Surpassed?"

"Chatter," Steve sighs, leaning his head back while staring at the ceiling. If this is his life now, he really can't complain.

 **\- x -**

"Hey, Aunt Peggy."

"Anthony, darling, how do you do?"

"Oh, you know. Just tinkering in the workshop with a hot super soldier watching me work."

"Is he now?"

"Mhmm. He's being a pretty good assistant most of the time; making me coffee, bringing me food, and laying all the tools I need around me. But he can also be a bad one because he likes to distract me by, you know," he pauses, keeping up the charade of nonchalance as he watches Bucky watching him with dark, glimmering eyes. "Kissing me senseless among other things, although one could still consider that good, especially if he knows what he's doing."

Peggy laughs, affection and amusement at her favorite godson not lost in the sound. "And I'm guessing he does."

"And then some," Tony replied, trying and failing at keeping his grin contained.

"What did I tell you?"

"You were right," he says, this time quietly but no less warm and affectionate and giddy. "You always are."

"I'm so glad my boys are happy," Peggy sighs, voice a bit tearful on the other side of the phone. "Make sure Steve stays that way, okay? He's been so sad for too long."

"I don't know what Maria does but she's good for him."

"She is, and he for her. Don't antagonize her too much, especially with rebuilding SHIELD on her plate." At his indignant squeak, she says, "I know you, Anthony."

"Fine. But she enjoys it when I do; she indulges me," he smugly responds.

"I'm glad. And Sharon, she's been cooped up here for a while now. Make sure she's not left alone for so long?"

"I will, Aunt Peg. In fact, I'll be visiting tomorrow."

"First thing in the morning?"

"You got it. You know you're the only one I willingly wake up early for."

"Bring James with you, alright? I want him with you."

He pauses briefly at the reason behind her request but shakes his head, thinking she's probably setting him and James up for an embarrassing trip down memory lane. So he just reaches his hand out for Bucky, who readily comes around his worktable to wrap his arms around Tony's torso.

"I'm sure he'll want to see you again." To which, Bucky hums and presses a light kiss on Tony's shoulder.

"Good." She takes a deep breath. "You'll tell on Howard, alright? No point hiding, I'll find out anyway."

Tony bows his head, suddenly feeling choked up, blinking rapidly at how their conversation had turned into one they've had countless times until he'd gone to college, and even then, still occasionally. "Dad's, uh—Dad's not so bad when he doesn't have his _adult juice_."

Bucky hears the change in Tony's voice and nuzzles into his neck for comfort, arms tightening upon the suddenly tense set of his shoulders.

Peggy hums, almost disapprovingly. "Don't give Mr. Jarvis such a hard time now, you hear me, young man?"

"Uh huh."

"I love you, always, my little chip," she says, reverting to what she used to call him in the rare times she babysat him or sang him lullabies as a child when he ran away from home with Jarvis' help.

"Always, Aunty Peg," he answers in a small voice so uncharacteristic of the man he's become, barely keeping his sniffling inaudible.

The next morning, he and Bucky are seated at the back of his town car with Happy driving when his phone starts ringing.

"Hey, Sharon. We're on our way, less than 10 minutes out, and half an hour early but—" He stiffens, mouth opening and closing, jaw tightly set. "What?" He asks, breathless, his fists clenching, one around the phone by his ear, the other hard around his knee. "No, I just—I just talked to her on the phone last night and she was—She _is_ fine. She's not—She just…She can't be." He looks down at his lap, unaware of his own trembling until he feels a gentle hand cover his own on his knee. He looks up, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, and meets sad eyes, wide with understanding, compassion, and their own brand of grief.

"I'm sorry, Tony," comes Bucky's quiet comfort.

His hand slackens, causing his phone to tumble down his thigh to the floor of the car but he pays it no mind. With wide, unseeing, eyes, he mumbles, "She died in her sleep, smiling and clutching the phone to her chest."

Bucky knows; his enhanced hearing gave him full access to both sides of the conversation. He doesn't wipe at Tony's tears though, knowing how much the other man needs to let this out. Instead, he pries the hand tightly wrapped around his knee and twines their fingers.

Together, like how they will get through this, like how they are, and how they will be. Steve too. He'll make sure of it.

* * *

 _A/N: I feel like that was, at the very least, a better farewell for our girl Peggy than the one we got in CACW. I didn't want her to die here but when I was writing this chapter (still a bit sore about Donna Noble-yes, I'm only now catching up, don't judge), I just felt like forgetting the adventures shared with the people you love is a fate worse than death._

 _So... Here's the penultimate chapter. I'll post the last one next month if it's the last thing I do. Let me know your thoughts and feelings about this chapter, this story, and/or your life, if you so please. Or drop me a line on tumblr and I'll get back to you. I'd love to hear from you. x_


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